Learning to Fly
by FrozenPhantasm
Summary: Sequel to my earlier story, "Breakdown." This story chronicles the evolution of Red and Healy's lives and relationship after Red is released from Litchfield. They formed a strong bond behind prison walls, but will it all fall apart now that Red is free?
1. Chapter 1

Description: Sequel to my earlier story, "Breakdown" (so, umm, read that one first, because some of the stuff in here won't make any sense if you haven't). This fic chronicles the evolution of Red and Healy's lives and relationships after Red is released from Litchfield. They formed a strong bond behind prison walls, but will it all fall apart now that Red is free?

Disclaimer: None of these characters (with the obvious exception of the 0.5 original characters I'm introducing) belong to me, nor do any of the plot points from the show that might be mentioned in this fic. Those are all the property of Netflix and Jenji Kohan (praise her). I write fanfic for funsies, not monies. Also, if I introduce song lyrics in here (which you can see I've done in this chapter), I will always attribute them to the artist (including the title; Tom Petty ftw!) and it goes without saying that they don't belong to me.

Learning to Fly

 _All the flowers that you planted, Mama_

 _In the backyard_

 _All died when you went away._

 _I know that living with you baby was sometimes hard_

 _But I'm willing to give it another try._

Healy turned the car stereo off with a groan. He had never been particularly enamored with Sinead O'Connor's music, but today the song made him want to smash things. It reminded him of Red, just as everything did these days. He realized that this was irrational. "Nothing Compares 2 U" was a breakup song, and he and Red had not actually broken up. In many ways, their agreement was worse than a breakup. Breakups were final; but this left everything up in the air.

Their five-week waiting period was almost up, and he was starting to go insane with the uncertainty of everything. Somehow, he had expected that she would cave and call him sooner—he knew that he would have, if he was on her end of things. He'd been on edge for weeks, waiting and wanting to hear from her. Every time his phone beeped or buzzed, his spirits would lift, because he would think that surely, this was it, this was her, calling to say that she needed him. Or, even better, she had something worked out and everything was all right and now they could be together. And every time the notification was nothing more than a work e-mail from Caputo or a text from his brother, his heart would sink.

The anticipation and disappointment had started to make Healy imagine the worst-case scenario on an endless loop that wouldn't stop playing in his head. What if she called him only to tell him that the relationship was over before it had even really been able to get off the ground? What if, since she had been on the outside and away from him, she had decided that their prison fling was a mistake? After all, she was free now; she had choices. Healy knew that never in a million years would they have ended up together if he hadn't been one of only a handful of men she saw on a regular basis. Now she could have anyone she wanted, or she could decide that she didn't need the hassle of a partner at all and devote herself to opening her bakery and being a _babushka_ to her sons' children. What if she called to say she didn't want him anymore? What if she never called at all?

These were the thoughts that had consumed him, all day, every day, for the last month. At first it was unbearable. Having to work in the same place where they had spent all their time together was Healy's own personal hell. Every time he entered the cafeteria he expected to see her, and he kept waiting for the knock on his office door that never came. He got irrationally angry when other people sat in the chair she had always taken because, damn it, that was and always would be Red's chair, although he knew she would never sit in it again.

Healy pulled into his driveway and parked, then grabbed the grocery bags from the front seat. Once inside, he put away the few food items he had purchased, then pulled a TV dinner from the freezer and threw it into the microwave before heading to his bedroom to change out of his uniform.

Two hours later, he was sprawled on his sofa, half-asleep with the television on and a novel lying open on the floor in front of him, when his phone rang. Lately, he had started keeping it on silent all the time, because constantly waiting for the ringtone to sound was driving him slowly mad. However, he supposed that on this particular day, he had forgotten to turn the sound off. Cursing under his breath, he grabbed the contraption from the end table by his head. He didn't recognize the number on the screen, and briefly considered declining the call—unknown numbers were usually telemarketers. Then, through his groggy haze, something occurred to him and made him press the green Accept button instead.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Red's hand was shaking so much that she almost dropped the phone. Dropping her phone was nothing new, of course; the damn thing was almost as big as her hand and she wasn't used to holding something so slim and sleek. Why Yuri thought that she needed a brand new smartphone when she hadn't even had a cell phone before going to prison was a mystery to her. Still, he and his brothers had been adamant that Red needed a phone, and Yuri had been spoiling her since her release from Litchfield. Red supposed that it was to make up for the nineteen hours of labor and 30 years of being a pain in her ass.

Just as the dial tone started to sound, Red heard the baby wake up with a piercing shriek. _Damn_ , she thought. Now not only would the sound of a screaming baby provide an unpleasant soundtrack for the call, but Tanya would likely be barging into the room at any moment, begging Red to handle the baby. Ever since Maxim moved her into his house, Red had become her granddaughter's go-to caretaker. It wasn't that Maxim and his wife couldn't handle their daughter, or that they expected Red to raise their child for them. It was simply that little Ekaterina had decided that her grandmother was her favorite person in the world, and Red was the only person for whom the infant would behave.

Five rings and he hadn't picked up. _Derr'mo_. Surely that meant he wasn't going to answer. Red held the phone out in front of her face, trying to figure out where on the screen she needed to press to end the call, when she heard a voice on the other end of the line. His voice.

She pressed the phone to her ear. "Hello?" she said, uncertain.

"Galina," came the reply. His voice was thick and foggy, as though he had just been woken up, but it was definitely him.

"Hello Sam."

"Oh, god, Galina. It's…it's so nice to hear your voice." Red smiled at that.

"It's good to hear yours, too," she said.

"So…umm…how are you?" Healy asked.

"Fine. I'm fine. I just…wanted to get in touch and see how you were."

"Fine," he replied. There was a moment of silence that was thick with tension. "So, would you…maybe…want to get together some time? Get a coffee, catch up?" Healy asked. Red bit her lip, fighting back a chuckle at how nervous he sounded.

"No coffee," she replied, "I have a better idea. What time do you get off work tomorrow, and would it be out of your way to come to Utica?"

"Yeah, I could do that. I get off at 6."

"Good," Red said, not realizing how relieved she sounded, "I'm going to give you an address, and I want you to meet me there."

"Okay." She could hear the confusion in his voice. "What's this the address of?"

"That, you'll find out when you get there," she replied cryptically.

"Well…umm…all right then. What's the address?" Red gave it to him, and then he repeated it back to her.

"I'll see you there tomorrow?" she asked.

"Yep," Healy replied, "I'll be there."

They said goodbye and hung up, and Red sighed happily, feeling freer and more at ease than she had in such a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** It should be noted that I know absolutely nothing about Utica, New York, so I'm kind of just making stuff up because, you know, fanfiction.

Learning to Fly

Healy pulled into the small gravel parking lot of the house indicated by his GPS. He didn't spend much time in Utica, and hadn't known that this neighborhood existed. It was an interesting mix of residential homes and small businesses—on his way up, Healy had passed two antique stores and a bookstore.

Looking at the house through his windshield, he wondered if this was where Red was living. He hoped not, since the porch railing was broken, the white paint on the outside was dull and peeling, and at least one of the shutters at the front of the house was hanging on by a thread. The place looked like it hadn't been occupied for quite a while.

There was another car in the driveway, which he assumed was Red's. He shut off the engine and then looked at himself in his rearview mirror. Healy was never particularly happy with his appearance, but, as he smoothed a strand of silver hair away from his face, he thought that he looked about as good as it was possible for him to.

He looked back at the house and saw that the front door was opening. His breath caught when she stepped out onto the porch. She looked…god, she looked radiant. She had only spent a little more than a month on the outside, but he could tell that she was adapting just fine. More than fine, really. Freedom seemed to be agreeing with her.

She wore her hair softly pushed back from her face instead of spiked up now, and it was a rich, natural shade of ginger instead of the purple-red she had maintained behind bars. Her makeup, too, was less severe; gone were the harsh cat eyes sculpted in black eyeliner and the flaming red lipstick. She wore a simple black, scoop-necked t-shirt, a pair of jeans that flattered her shapely legs, and ballet flats. For the first time, Sam felt as though he was really seeing Galina, instead of Red, and he liked what he saw.

He opened his car door and got out. He wondered, for the hundredth time, if he should have brought anything. He had contemplated buying flowers on the way, but then decided against it, since he didn't know where, exactly, he was going to be meeting her, and how she would react to such a public display of affection. She smiled at him as he approached, and all other thoughts were pushed from his mind as he walked towards the porch.

"Be careful on that third step," she said by way of greeting, "The wood's a little rotten; it's about to fall through."

"Good to see you, too, Red," he joked, gingerly taking the steps. When he reached the porch and stood in front of her, she suddenly felt frozen. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but she also wanted to just keep looking at him; she still couldn't decide if he was really there or if she was dreaming. Healy made the decision for her, coming in for a hug. It was a simple embrace, nothing more than what could have happened between two old friends, but Red still felt her skin tingling with the contact, and she knew that Healy must feel it as well. They stood there for several minutes, just holding one another, until finally she broke away.

"So, umm…what is this place?" Healy asked.

"It's my pastry shop," Red explained, "Or, it will be, eventually. It obviously needs a lot of fixing up first."

"This is yours?" he asked, "How…?" He hadn't expected her to actually have the building for her shop after only five weeks.

"Yuri," she replied, "Technically, he bought it, but it's my name on the deed, so it belongs to me. It took some doing, but his new wife's mother is a realtor, so…" She waved her hand in the air, as if that explained everything.

"Well that's…that's amazing!" Healy said. Red took his hand with a smile and led him through the front door.

"Come, I'll give you the grand tour," she said, "Not that there's much to see; it's a small house and everything looks like shit because it's old, but still. This," she swept her hand across what had once been a living room, "is going to be the main dining area. The pastry case will go right there, and the rest is going to be tables and maybe a sofa or two." She took him into another room. "This will be the kitchen. It's a little small, but the master bedroom's behind that wall, so after we knock it out, I should have all the space I need."

Red was beaming, and Healy couldn't help but grin along with her. He didn't remember ever seeing her this happy; she was almost like a new woman. He could tell that she could already see all the changes that she planned to make, and it excited her.

"This," she said, gesturing towards a door at the end of the house's only hallway, "Is nothing special, but I'll show you anyway. It's a little bedroom, but I'm going to use it as an office."

They entered the room, which was, indeed, quite small, but would provide adequate space for a desk, filing cabinet, and maybe a chair or two. Currently, there was an accumulation of furniture scattered around it, including a desk with a dining chair in front of it, likely leftover from the previous owners. Red walked over to the desk, lifting herself up to sit on top of it and gesturing for him to take the chair.

"This is all so amazing," he said after he sat down, "You've really got everything figured out."

"Not everything," she replied, "I knew that I was going to have to take out a loan or two to remodel the place and buy everything I need, but I underestimated how hard it would be. After fourteen years basically existing outside of the world, I have no credit whatsoever. I also can't get a job. My PO makes me apply to at least three every week, but nobody wants to hire someone who spent 14 years in prison, so I'm not bringing in any money. My boys are trying to help me, but it's difficult. I even swallowed my pride and reached out to Dmitri, but he's been having his own financial issues since the market went under."

"Hmm…well, you'll figure something out," Healy said, "I've never seen you not get something that you really wanted."

"I'm not sure that's entirely true, but, if you say so, Sam."

"I do," he replied, "So, how's living with your son?"

"It's going well enough," she said, "But I think I'm starting to drive them a bit crazy, and they are definitely driving me insane. Not Maxim; he's overjoyed to have me with him, but I'm not Tanya's favorite person because her cooking is terrible and I tell her so. And the baby. I love my granddaughter, but being around an infant, all day, every day, it's…maddening. But I shouldn't complain. At least I'm free to come and go as I please. And how are you, Sam?"

He filled her in on the details of his life, such as they were. Sadly, the most exciting thing he had to report was that he had recently started going to the gym, and had actually lost about ten pounds, but only because, at his last checkup, his doctor had told him that his cholesterol and was sky-high and he would almost certainly end up in the hospital within a year if he didn't change his lifestyle. After Red had expressed her concern for his health, the conversation faded into a silence that, between any other two people, would have been thick and awkward, but, for them, was simply comfortable.

"So, Galina, I can't help but wonder…you've got this new life and you're trying to get this business together, and I just want to know…where do you see me fitting into all of this?"

"Well, that mostly depends on you, and what you want," Red replied. When Healy looked at her in confusion, she continued, "I wanted to be with you the second I got out. I wanted to kick myself for telling you that we had to wait. I thought, once you got away from me and had some time on your own to think, maybe you'd realize that you didn't want an old lady felon in your life."

"I thought the same thing," Healy said, relieved that it hadn't just been him.

"Well, you would be right about that; I had my fill of lady felons while I was in Litchfield; I don't particularly need any more."

Healy chuckled. "You know what I mean," he said. Red nodded.

"So now you know where I stand," she said, "What about you, Sam? What do you want?"

"You, Galina." Healy got up from the chair and stood before her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in until their foreheads touched. "I've always just wanted you."

Healy thought that he saw a tear fall from the corner of her eye, but he couldn't be certain, because she put her hands behind his head and pulled him in for a kiss. Their lips met slowly, tremblingly, and Red sighed beneath his mouth.

"I missed you so much," Healy said against her lips.

She kissed him briefly, softly and then said, "I missed you, too, _dorogoi_." That was the understatement of the year. She had been dreaming about his lips, waking up wanting him. It was taking every last bit of willpower that she had not to push him back into that chair and straddle him. As it was, she could barely keep her mouth off of him, kissing his cheeks and his forehead and then his lips again, this time deeply as her tongue drove into his mouth.

His hands were roaming up and down her back, and she hissed when, purely by accident, two of his fingers accidentally lifted the hem of her shirt and brushed her skin.

"Sorry," he murmured, seeing her shiver beneath his touch.

"Don't apologize," she said, her voice deep and breathy. His hands grew bolder; at first, only one of them grazed over the skin at the small of her back, and then both were underneath her shirt, trailing over her flesh. It crossed his mind that he was now exploring uncharted territory; even in the greenhouse, he had never been able to touch her so freely. He was almost drunk with the feeling of freedom and the softness of Galina's body beneath his fingers. Healy's hands skimmed down her sides and then gripped the hem of her shirt, but she brought her own hands down to cover his when he tried to lift it, making him growl in frustration.

"You're making me feel so good, _lyubov moya_ ," Red said, in that sultry, accented whiskey voice that set Healy on fire, "And I want you to touch me all over, but I can't fuck on top of a table again. After last time, my back was in spasms for days." Healy frowned; she had never told him that. There was nothing he could have done and it would only have made him feel bad to know it, but still.

"It's for the best, I guess," he conceded, "This isn't how I wanted it to be, anyway."

"Oh? So you had a plan to seduce me?"

"No plan as such, just a vague hope that maybe this time we could find an actual bed and not have to rush it." He put his arm around her waist and helped her down from the top of the desk, and, as she alighted, her hip rubbed up against the front of his jeans, causing him to groan and her to feel how excited she had gotten him. She smirked at that, and also at the way he pulled away from her, pacing the room and obviously trying to calm himself down so that he could once again be capable of rational thought.

"So," he said, when he was finally done pacing, "Do you…do you maybe want to go get a bite to eat? Catch up over dinner?"

"No need, actually," Red replied, "If you want to come back to my place—well, my son's place, technically—I have dinner in the slow cooker."

"Your son and his wife—they won't mind if you bring a guest home?" Healy asked, mentally adding, _And then proceed to have sex with said guest all night, loudly and in every conceivable positon?_

"They're not home," Red said, grabbing one of his hands and pulling him out of the chair and towards the hallway, "They've gone into the city to visit Tanya's parents. They took the baby with them, and they won't be back until tomorrow, so we'll have the place to ourselves."

 **Author's Note:** *wink wink* *nudge nudge* The next chapter's going to be smut, is what I'm trying to say here. The rating will obviously be changing accordingly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** This chapter is basically PWP, because I'm nasty, and because these poor kids have waited long enough. Anyway, if explicit content offends you, then feel free to skip. There's, like, two paragraphs of non-smut at the end, but it's not terribly important. The next chapter will be back to PG, I promise.

Learning to Fly

Red's son's house smelled, pleasantly, like cooking. "Beef stroganoff," Red explained as they came through the front door and Healy sniffed the air, "I still love to make food, but do you know how nice it is to not have to stand in front of a stove for hours every day?"

They started out on the sofa, hands entwined, her head resting on his shoulder as they discussed anything and everything that came to their minds.

It hadn't taken long for her to end up in his lap with her legs curled around his waist. When he kissed her, they both sighed at the contact. Healy had almost forgotten how much he loved the taste of her mouth, and Red was practically starved for his touch. He had intended to take things slowly, to ease them carefully back into intimacy, but Red was already half-mad wit lust. Romantic, sensual lovemaking could happen later; right now, her body had other ideas. With her tongue pillaging his mouth, she grabbed both of his wrists and brought his hands up to her breasts.

Of their own accord, his hands squeezed the mounds through her shirt. He had never gotten the chance to properly explore there; they had only made love the one time, and had been too afraid of detection to undress entirely. Healy quickly liberated her from her shirt. She raised her arms so that he could remove it, tossing it aside and catching his breath at the sight of her bra, a deep purple, lacy push-up garment. She smirked at his reaction, clearly pleased with herself. She leaned into him and nipped at his earlobe before whispering, "I went lingerie shopping within days of being released. I will never wear a cheap cotton granny bra again." Then she crushed her lips against his as he reached behind her to unfasten the undergarment.

As his eyes roamed hungrily over her nude torso, Red felt herself flushing. She was suddenly shy; it had been a decade and a half since anyone had seen her like this, and it made her feel vulnerable. She wasn't as comfortable in her body as she had been twenty years ago; she had grown stouter than she used to be, she had a scar on her abdomen from the C-section that had been necessary to deliver her youngest son, and her breasts, while not as bad off as some of those she had seen in Litchfield, had felt the effects of gravity. She hadn't had anything to worry about with her lovers when she was younger. Then Dmitri, of course, had seen her in varying stages of undress almost every day for years; what her body looked like hadn't mattered then. But having Healy looking at her was new, and Red held her breath nervously.

She let it out when Sam's hand came up to cup one of her breasts, thumb tracing over the nipple and making her shiver. "Beautiful, Galina," Healy whispered as he brought his lips to hers. He meant it, too. The first time he'd seen Katya naked, he thought he'd hit the jackpot; her body was close to perfection, but it took seeing Red half-nude to realize that perfection was boring. Red's body was so much more complex; it had made whole new human beings, had known the strain of hard work, had taken two brutal beatings and still survived. Her body was interesting and impressive. Healy's hands were all over her as they kissed, and when he finally released her lips, his mouth moved downwards, tongue trailing against her neck and collarbone before he reached her breasts. He took one nipple between his lips, and then the other, reveling in the softness of her beneath his hands and tongue, loving the velvet tones of her voice as she sighed his name.

"Where's your bedroom?" he asked against her skin. With a smile, she climbed off of him and led the way.

He began removing her pants as soon as they were through the door. He made quick work of unsnapping the button and pulling down the zipper, and then she moved her hips to free herself from the fabric, stepping out of the jeans when they pooled at her feet. She moaned when she felt his hand at the front of her panties.

"Touch me, Sam," she whispered, sighing when he obeyed, moving his hand beneath the fabric and feeling the heat at her center.

"God, you're dripping," he said as one of his fingers traced her labia. More than that, Healy could smell her arousal, heady, musky, and incredibly tantalizing.

"You got me that way" she groaned, "Now what are you going to do about it?"

"Take those panties off, and get on the bed," Healy growled into her ear. Red obeyed, propping herself up on the pillows and glancing at him seductively. She almost giggled when she realized that he was still completely dressed, but then he was on the bed with her, lightly kissing her belly and dipping his tongue into her navel before moving lower and kissing her hip. His arms wrapped around each of her thighs, parting her legs and then looking down at her, spread out before him.

She cried out at the touch of his tongue. He sent jolts of electricity down her spine as he traced through her wetness. Healy moaned at the salty sweetness of her beneath his lips. He had always enjoyed pleasuring his lovers like this, and it had been forever since he'd had the chance. Katya hadn't allowed it, and before her, it had been years since Sam had had sex. In contrast to his frigid ex-wife, Red seemed to be loving his ministrations. She encouraged him as he feasted on her, occasionally begging him to lick here or suck there before impatiently tangling her hand in his hair and moving his head up so that he could take her clit between his lips. She went wild when he did that, calling out his name and grinding herself against him as she came.

Healy didn't pull away until her hips came back down to rest on the mattress. For the longest time, she lay still, staring up at the ceiling and panting, and Healy enjoyed watching her breasts rise and fall with each breath. Finally, she raised herself back up, staring at him with a fire in her eyes. She grabbed at the front of his shirt, balling her hands in it and tugging.

"Get this shit off," she said fiercely, "Get it all off and then come here and fuck me."

Healy complied eagerly, hastily undressing and then joining her on the bed, trapping her body beneath his. He was hesitant to kiss her; most women were squeamish about kissing after receiving oral sex, but Red came forward to take his lips, thrusting her tongue into his mouth and enjoying the smell and taste of herself on him, as though she had marked her territory. Healy found this so utterly sexy that he felt like he could explode right then and there. He needed her, and he needed her now.

Lifting one of her legs over his hip, Healy entered her, gasping at the feeling of her around him. She was just as tight, just as hot as last time, but this was nothing like it had been in the greenhouse. She was nervous then and, to some extent, learning how to navigate sex again, and with a new partner nonetheless, after more than a decade of celibacy. Now she was confident, moving below him to meet each thrust of his hips, raking her nails down his back, spurring him on with breathy moans and dirty exclamations in her mother tongue.

After a particularly deep thrust, Red let out a sharp cry that Healy recognized as pain rather than pleasure. He looked down at her, concerned that he had hurt her again, just as he had the first time.

"Oh fuck," Red said irritably, "It's my back. This…position…is no good for it; I can't take it anymore."

"Shit; I'm sorry," he said.

"Healy, you have got to stop apologizing to me every time we have sex," she replied, trying to make the words sound light although they were spoken through gritted teeth.

Healy couldn't help but chuckle, and then he asked, "What can we do to make it hurt less? Or, ideally, not at all?"

"Turn over, _lyubov moya_ ," she ordered, "Maybe that will help." Healy obliged, reluctantly pulling out of her and then flipping onto his back. She straddled him, then sunk down gently to take him back in. Red groaned at the new angle, stilled herself for a moment as her back adjusted, and then kissed him deeply as she began to move.

"Oh," she said, in a deep, sensual purr, "This…this is…much better."

"For your back?" he asked.

"Among other things," was the reply.

Normally, Healy disliked giving his partner so much control, but, as he watched the swivel of Red's hips and the way that her breasts bounced as she rode him, he decided that he liked this position. He reached between her legs, dipping a finger into her folds and finding her clit, smiling at the strangled cry that escaped her lips as he began to stroke there. The added stimulation pushed her over the brink, and her orgasm threw off her balance, making her fall forward onto him. She twined her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest as she felt him release inside of her.

They stayed that way even after she disengaged his body from her own. Her weight was comfortable on top of him, and she loved the feeling of him, solid and certain, beneath her. Healy didn't dare move, still not convinced that he wasn't dreaming having her in his arms. Red eventually rolled off of him. She snuggled into his side, tossing one of her legs over his and stroking his chest lightly while whispering soft Russian endearments.

"You'll have to quit that, _krasavitsa_ ," he said, "Unless…unless you want to go again."

"I do," she said, "But not now. Right now, my stroganoff is ready, and I'm starving." She left the bed, pulling her panties and jeans back on, then going to the living room to retrieve her bra and t-shirt. Healy got dressed and went to the kitchen, where he was greeted by the sight of her spooning food into two bowls. Soft evening light was filtering in from the window over the stove, and she had the radio on, tuned to the same classic rock station they had listened to at Litchfield, which was playing "Rhiannon" by Fleetwood Mac.

Red set Healy's bowl in front of him, then sat down in the chair next to his and looked at him in anticipation. He realized that she wasn't going to eat until he tasted his food, so he grabbed his fork and took a bite of his stroganoff.

"Oh…oh, holy fuck that's good," he said, eagerly gathering more onto his fork. Red smirked at his reaction—she knew that her food was amazing, but she wanted to hear him say it.

"My cooking is much improved now that I have better ingredients to work with than the garbage at Litchfield," she said, beginning on her own stroganoff. They talked as they ate, made jokes and teased one another. The sun went down, the crickets began to sing outside, and the song on the radio switched to "Sister Golden Hair" by America, which Red began to hum. Healy cracked another joke and, as he watched Red laughing around a mouthful of noodles, he realized, suddenly, that this was everything he had been searching for. Red felt it, too; she was happier than she had been in a long while.

Neither of them had any delusions that their relationship would always be as carefree as it was now. Red's life would be an uphill climb as she adjusted to freedom and dealt with the challenges that being an ex-convict would pose. Sometimes it would be hard, and she would get frustrated and take it out on him. Both of their tempers would flare, they would have epic fights, she would occasionally be manipulative and she'd challenge his (backwards) views at every turn. They both knew all of this, but they knew also that the good times would outnumber the bad, and that right now, they were exactly where they needed to be.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Things are getting a little bit dark up in here, but now we're getting to the meat of the story. Fourteen years in prison would, I imagine, fuck anybody right up. Red's a badass, but even the toughest cookies crumble sometimes.

Learning to Fly

Healy was ecstatic when, after the dishes from dinner were placed in the dishwasher and the leftover stroganoff put in the fridge, Red asked him if he'd like to stay the night. It was Friday, and he didn't work weekends, so he agreed enthusiastically. They went to bed early after a few more hours of conversation at the kitchen table, and made love again by the light of the lamp on Red's bedside table. Healy spooned her when they finished, reveling in the scent of her hair and the feeling of her skin beneath his hands. He had just about dropped off to sleep when Red suddenly turned over. The motion of the mattress jolted Healy, and he opened his eyes to find her looking at him.

"Sam?" she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry. I can't…I can't sleep like this," she said, moving out of his embrace. He groaned groggily, and she looked mildly guilty. "I really am sorry. I've just spent so much time sleeping by myself…"

"It's okay," Healy muttered, "Do whatever you have to do to get comfortable."

Red kissed his forehead and then rolled over, her back to him and several inches between their bodies. Then she had an idea. She twisted one arm behind her back, her hand seeking and finding his. He smiled at this, and squeezed her hand to let her know that there were no hard feelings. This really wasn't a hell of a lot more comfortable for Red than having his body up against her, but she was learning that Healy was the kind of man who needed affectionate physical contact. Besides, she liked touching him. With their fingers entwined, they both drifted off fairly quickly.

Healy was briefly woken several hours later by the sound of crying. He thought that he felt the mattress move beneath him but, through the haze of sleep, he didn't remember where he was. Assuming that he was home alone in his own bed, he concluded that he must be dreaming, and soon dozed off again. This time, though, he slept uneasily and then finally woke up all the way. He remembered all that happened in the last 24 hours. Barely believing that any of it had been real, he reached out for Red, and his heart sank when she wasn't there. So he did dream it, after all.

He rolled over and turned on the lamp, then blinked in confusion when he realized that the room around him wasn't his. Then everything with Red had been real. But where was she? Healy threw back the covers and got out of bed, reaching to the floor for his boxers and undershirt.

Cautiously, he exited the bedroom, navigating the unfamiliar hallway and hoping that she hadn't just stepped out to go to the bathroom. If that were the case, then his wandering her son's house looking for her would be awkward. When Healy entered the kitchen, she was there, sitting at the table in a white silk robe and staring contemplatively at a cup of tea.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, making her jump as he broke her reverie. Her eyes were wide and terrified as she looked at him, trying to tamp down her panic.

"Sam…I…no, I have trouble sometimes," she stammered. Then she gave him a small, insincere smile, "At night, when everyone's asleep, this house can get way too quiet. I'm used to being surrounded by twenty other women snoring or talking in their sleep."

"I thought I heard you crying earlier…" Healy began, but she cut him off by standing up, turning her back to him, and moving towards a cabinet.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked, not giving him much of a choice, as she had already pulled out a cup and lined the bottom of it with tea leaves.

"Umm…yeah, sure," he replied, watching her make the tea and then taking a sip when Red set his cup down in front of him. He opened his mouth to speak, but she gave him what he had once heard one of her prison daughters call "the look that makes my ass leak." Healy wasn't immune to the effects of her warning stares, but he gathered up his courage, momentarily abandoned his sanity, and threw caution to the wind.

"You were crying earlier, weren't you?" he asked. Red said nothing, but he continued, "Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she said shortly.

"It wasn't anything that I did, was it?" he pressed. Red rolled her eyes and set her cup down on the table, more forcefully than she needed to.

"If we're going to do this thing, Sam—and I mean, _really_ do this, then you're going to have to stop believing that you're the source of all my problems. I get that you've kind of been conditioned by other women to think that way, but I spent fourteen years in prison. There are bigger issues in my life than your snoring and drooling."

"Fair enough," Healy replied, "But if we're really going to do this, then you're going to have to let me in more. That means knowing that you can talk to me about whatever these other issues are."

"Fair enough," she echoed, shaking her head petulantly at him. "Yes, I have nightmares sometimes. When I first wake up, sometimes I have trouble remembering that I'm not…where it is that my dreams tell me I am."

"Litchfield?" he asked. She blanched slightly, but nodded.

"Among other places. You forget that my life wasn't sunshine and roses before I got locked up. I never had nightmares before, though. That only started happening after…" She trailed off, waving her hand in the air as if he was supposed to gather her meaning from the gesture.

"After what?" Healy asked.

"After Vee almost slocked me to death," she finished, staring down at the table as if it had been the one to perpetrate the assault.

He nodded in understanding, and then reached across the table to take her hand. She didn't respond to the gesture, but she didn't pull away, either.

"Is it mostly her you dream about?" he asked.

"Mostly," Red replied, "Usually, in my dreams, I re-live that attack, or the time that she assaulted me before. And then sometimes it's…"

"What?"

"Nothing," Red said, getting up and dumping the rest of her tea down the sink, "Nothing that I'm ready to talk about just yet, anyway." She turned around and walked towards the hallway.

"I'm going back to bed," she announced, "But stay here and finish your tea if you want."

"No." Healy stood up and walked toward the sink, emptying his own mug, "I'll come with you."

She nodded and led the way, turning off the kitchen light as she went. After Red had gone to her dresser and slipped on a pair of panties and an oversized t-shirt to sleep in, they both slid into bed and lay in silence. As he was beginning to drift off, Healy was surprised to feel Red's body against the front of him. He welcomed her into his arms and held her close, pleased that, at the very least, he could make her feel safe while she slept.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** REO Speedwagon references, Red being a literature buff, and our favorite counselor and inmate showering together, oh my! Nice looooooong chapter for you guys!

Learning to Fly

Healy woke up to an empty bed and the smell of fresh coffee. Once again, he had to look around the room to reassure himself that he wasn't in his own house, alone as ever. Nope, the room was definitely not his bedroom. He got out of bed, briefly considered dressing, and then decided against it. He'd want a shower, or at least a hasty sponge bath, before he put his clothes back on. Considering that what he had worn last night was all he had available to him at present, he'd want to keep those clothes fresh. He visited the restroom, washed his face, and then, happily, found a bottle of mouthwash on the counter, which he used liberally, since he also didn't have a toothbrush here.

When he finally made his way to the kitchen, he found Red bustling about, cooking eggs and bacon while pouring herself a cup of coffee.

"It's 6:30 in the morning," Healy informed her when she noticed him standing in the doorway, "How are you already up and cooking?"

"Litchfield conditioning," she replied, "For the better part of fourteen years I was always up at the crack of dawn for breakfast prep. My body won't allow me to sleep later than 5:30 anymore."

Healy nodded sympathetically; he experienced the same dilemma every weekend. Each Friday night he would go to bed excited about all the sleep he'd finally be catching up on. Then, come 6:00 Saturday morning, he would be up and ready to start the day whether he wanted to be or not.

Red served up two plates of food and brought Healy his coffee, already made to his preferred specifications. He remembered that, in what now seemed like a different lifetime, Red had told him that she refused to be anyone's little housewife. It seemed ironic now, considering the fact that, finally installed in a home of her own, she played the part to perfection. Healy briefly considered cracking a joke to that effect, but refrained from doing so out of a desire to keep his balls from being bashed in with a meat tenderizer.

"So," Red began when she sat down, "I was thinking of going back to my future coffee shop and current dilapidated husk of a house today. I need to make a list of all the repairs the place needs. Not that I can afford any of them, but knowing what the damage is will help me budget. Do you want to come?"

"Yeah, of course. I assume that if I do, you'll be putting me to work as well?"

"Naturally," she replied.

"Okay, then; I have one condition," Healy said.

"Oh? And what's that?"

"We go to my house first so that I can shower and change clothes."

Red chuckled. "You know, I hadn't even thought of that. You can shower here if you want. I'm not close enough to tell, but you must smell fucking awful after last night."

Just the thought of the previous night caused a slight jolt in the pit of Healy's stomach, and all he could do was nod weakly. This amused Red to no end. She already knew where his mind had gone, because hers was in the same place. They'd have to do something about that later, but, for now, there were other things to occupy their time.

Healy did, indeed, elect to shower at her place. To his surprise, Red elected to join him, stepping in and embracing him from behind while he was washing his hair.

"Are you trying to seduce me, madam?" Healy asked. She was barely touching him and he already felt his body responding.

"I'm trying to save water." She tried to sound matter-of-fact, but her voice came out as a purr. Healy turned around, took her in his arms, and kissed her hard.

"I have to warn you; with my back being the way it is, shower sex might be more of a safety hazard than a turn-on," she said. Healy chuckled.

"You're probably right," he said, knowing that his own balance wasn't the best and that sex while standing up should only be attempted if at least one of them were firmly braced against a wall, if at all. "Doesn't mean I can't look at you, though."

He washed her hair for her, and she moaned as his fingers caressed her scalp and gave her goosebumps. After they had both cleaned themselves (and each other), they got out of the shower, and Red passed him a towel after wrapping herself up in one and running another through her hair.

In the bedroom, she shook her head as she watched him put on the same clothes he had worn the day before, leaving off his boxers and undershirt, which were dirty after having been slept in.

"You might want to consider keeping some things here," she said, trying to sound nonchalant but feeling her neck and cheeks flushing, "Or maybe it would be better if I kept things at your place, since you don't live with two other adults and a baby."

Healy was so taken aback that he couldn't speak for a moment, but when he found his voice, he agreed that she could keep whatever she wanted at his place. The matter settled, Red retrieved a small duffle bag from her closet and began throwing things into it, mostly extra toiletries, a pair of jeans and a few shirts and sets of underwear. She couldn't bring too much, because she still hadn't gotten her wardrobe back to where it used to be before Litchfield.

Dmitri had given all of her old clothes to a local women's shelter after the divorce. For the most part, Red's ex-husband took the divorce as passively as he did everything else that she'd dished out over 23 years of marriage. The fact that he hadn't fought her had only proven to Red that he wasn't worthy of her. She supposed that throwing out her clothes had been his one concession to petty meanness. In a way, she couldn't even blame him; she'd cut him loose without really giving him a chance to explain himself. If losing her outdated (and probably, by now, too small) clothes and shoes was the worst thing to come out of the divorce, then she should consider herself fortunate.

The few outfits she had now were things that her sons bought her after she'd gotten out.

After she had dressed in a white t-shirt and another pair of form-fitting jeans, Red went to her dresser and looked at herself in the mirror that hung above it. Since they were going to the old house, she elected not to wear makeup. It was late summer, the ancient heap didn't have air conditioning installed yet, and she would just sweat any and all makeup off.

She wondered what Healy would think of her without makeup. That she could remember, the only time he'd ever seen her barefaced was when she was in Medical after the slocking. At that point, her face had been so bruised and swollen that a little eyeliner would have done nothing to make her look less like shit. As she gazed at herself, she noted that, without foundation on, the scars on her cheek and at her hairline stood out vividly, ugly pinkish-purple gashes against the ivory of her skin.

"Sam?" she asked, the faraway sound of her voice arresting him.

"Yeah?"

"My scars…do you…do you mind them?"

Healy knit his eyebrows together, not sure how to answer that question. She had phrased it oddly, and he supposed that this was one of those instances in which she couldn't find the English words to properly express her meaning.

"Mind them? Of course not. They're just part of your face," he reassured her. And then, he had a thought. "Do _you_ mind them?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation, "Not for vanity reasons. At least, not _only_ for vanity reasons. Mostly I hate them because they're reminders."

"Of what happened to you?"

"Of a time that I was defeated," she replied, her voice a bitter growl.

"Galina," he said, coming to stand beside her and turning her around so that she was looking at him, "You weren't defeated. You survived, you made a full recovery, you went back to ruling the prison like you always did. Furthermore, now you're out of that place and you have a life. You know where Parker ended up? Buried underneath a wooden marker in the Litchfield cemetery, with all the other inmates who died there with no family on the outside to give them a funeral."

Red hadn't known that. "Really?" she asked. Healy nodded.

"It makes me feel better to know that she died alone and unloved," Red said.

Healy snickered; she could be truly spiteful and awful sometimes, but, right now, he felt it justified. "I thought it might," he said, dropping light, quick kisses on each of her scars before taking her hand and leading her out of the bedroom to the front door. "Come on, _krasavitsa_ , let's get going. I really want to change out of these grungy clothes."

Healy turned on the radio when they got into his car, explaining that he could focus on the road better with music. Red didn't object. She had the same driving quirk and, besides, REO Speedwagon was playing, and "Keep on Loving You" had always been one of her favorites. When Healy began to sing along, Red turned towards him with a bemused expression on her face. His singing voice was wonderful, much more in-key and rhythmic than hers.

"You've been holding out on me, Healy," she accused, "I had no idea you could sing."

He blushed. "Church choir. I hated it, but my mom made me participate. She didn't let me quit until I was thirteen."

"Ah. My family never went to church. Mostly because in those days in Russia, religion was basically illegal. Most people in my neighborhood claimed Orthodoxy but really worshipped vodka as their god. I never worshipped anything. Always thought it was stupid."

"Hmm. Church was one thing we did every Sunday, or at least every Sunday that my mom had her head on straight and was able to get out of bed," Healy replied, "I tried really hard to believe, but I don't think I'm wired that way. I tend to agree with you on the religious front."

That surprised Red. Healy was so traditional in most of his worldviews; she had taken it as a given that he would also be religious. They'd never discussed religion at Litchfield, and talking to him about God and heaven and eternal punishment had been something that the Russian woman dreaded. For no good reason, it seemed. However, knowing that Healy came from a religious background did serve to explain some of the weird, misogynistic and homophobic attitudes he had carried around all these years, and was only now (with the help of his therapist and Red herself) beginning to shed.

They drove the rest of the way in silence, just listening to the radio and occasionally singing along, until they reached Healy's house. It was a modest ranch-style home in a pretty unremarkable, middle-of-the-road, middle-class neighborhood. When Red stepped inside, she instantly realized that it was a good thing Healy had never tried to go into interior design. Decorating was definitely not his forte. Everything looked clean and well-kept, but mismatched, as though he hadn't even made an effort to make the place look put-together when decorating. Healy saw her looking around and, as if reading her mind he said, "Yeah; it's not much, but it's home. Honestly, if you have any ideas for making it look nicer, you're totally at liberty to change things."

"I can't just come into your house and start changing things around," Red said.

"Sure you can," he replied. He left her to explore the rest of the house—and to spend a great deal of time checking out the kitchen—while he went to shave, clean his teeth properly, and change clothes. When he was done, he felt 100% better, and his heart lifted when he walked into his living room to find her sitting on his sofa with her legs tucked under her, a book in her hand. As he got closer, he realized that she was reading the opening pages of _The Dark Tower_ by Stephen King. She looked up from the book when he joined her on the sofa.

"King fan?" he asked.

Red nodded. "I read a lot of his stuff back in the 80's and 90's, after Dmitri and I first came over. I had no idea these books existed, though," she said, indicating the one in her hand and the rest of the series on the bookshelf.

"Yeah, those are pretty recent. Not my favorites, honestly, but worth a read if you already like his stuff."

"Well, I like the title. Nice allusion there." Healy looked at her blankly.

"'Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came?'" she said, "It's a poem by Browning. I think it's a Shakespeare reference as well."

"Huh," Sam said. He hadn't known that, and he'd had no idea that she was such a literary person. In Litchfield, he frequently saw her with a book in her hands during her off time, but he supposed that he hadn't realized just how widely she read. As he watched her reading, her eyes focused on the page in front of her and her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, he briefly lamented the fact that she had never gotten the chance to go to college. Red was smart as a whip, and she was obviously well-read; he could easily picture her being a brilliant English major.

He let her read for a few minutes more before interrupting her.

"You know, Galina, I've been thinking…"

"Oh no," she said, putting the book down, "Do I want to know about what?"

Healy chuckled. "Maybe. I was thinking about what you told me yesterday, about having a hard time getting a job and, as a result, building credit and getting a loan for the pastry shop. I can't help you with the job situation, but I thought maybe…"

"No," Red cut him off, already having realized where he was going, "Absolutely not."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"You were going to offer to pay for some of the work that needs to be done," she said matter-of-factly.

Healy couldn't deny it, but still he persisted. "Well, yes, but beyond that, I was also going to offer to co-sign for you so that you'd have a better chance of getting that loan you need."

"No," Red said, with an air of finality that Healy refused to accept.

"Why not?" he asked.

She sighed. "Did we not have a conversation, just before I left Litchfield, about how this was something I needed to do on my own? How I need to be independent and not rely on you for things?"

"We did, but you also agreed that if you were struggling, you would let me help."

"I'm not struggling," Red said. Her tone was confident, but they both knew that her words were bordering on utter bullshit. Sure, she wasn't struggling now, but a few more weeks or months of unemployment and no prospects for starting renovations on her shop, and she would pass "struggling" and land on "desperate."

"Galina, please, just let me do this for you. If you don't want me to just give you money, then we can call it a loan. We can even have paperwork drawn up and you can pay me back once the shop gets off the ground."

"No!" she hissed, dropping the book onto the coffee table so hard that it landed with a thud. She got up and began to pace the room, running one hand angrily through her hair.

"I think you're being unreasonable," Healy said. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he'd made a mistake in saying them. If looks could kill, the one she was giving him now would have stopped his heart on the spot.

"Oh, do you? And why do you think I'm unreasonable? Because I'm a woman and I'm not letting you have your way? Are you going to ask me if I'm on my period next?"

Healy clenched his jaw and began the slow count to 10, a coping strategy that his therapist had taught him for keeping his temper in check. He knew Red well enough by now to know that she was testing him. If he lashed out and said something stupid, he would fail the test, and there would be no extra credit offered.

"No. I think you're being unreasonable because you are a person who will not accept help that we both know you need from someone who loves you and wants to see you thrive."

Red's face softened at that. "But you _know_ I can't."

"Why can't you?" he asked, rising from the sofa and coming to stand before her. "What do you think is going to happen? What, do you think I'm unreliable? Do you think that one day I'm just going to up and leave you, so you shouldn't depend too much on me?"

"Sam…"she said, her voice now tinged with shock and sadness.

"You have to know that I'm not going anywhere, Galina. Not unless you make me. I waited for two years and five weeks to be with you; why would I leave now? I'm in for the long haul, _dorogaya_. Aren't you?"

"Of course," she said firmly.

"Then what are you afraid of?"

"Everything," Red admitted, a tear falling from her eye and slowly crawling down her cheek. "It's all so daunting, Sam."

"It will be worse if you try to go it alone," he said, reaching out for her. She allowed him to embrace her, and buried her face in the soft cotton of his shirt. "You're not an island, Galina; you're a person who needs other people, just like everyone else. Let me help you, _lyubov moya_."

For the longest time, she said nothing, simply holding onto him and thinking things through. Finally, she nodded and looked up at him. "Okay," she whispered.

 **Author's Note:** Had to rep for my people (English majors) by (kind of) counting Red among us. Also, my apologies if anyone was offended by the religious stuff. Being that I'm an agnostic queer girl who grew up in the Deep South, me and Christianity are not BFFs.


	6. Chapter 6

Learning to Fly

"My sons want to meet you," Red said one night, out of the blue. She and Healy were sitting on his living room sofa, watching a movie on television. For Healy, it was domestic bliss, and he was languishing in it. He had never had this before, even when married to Katya. Never had any woman been interested in actually spending quality time with him, cuddling up and doing nothing.

Red was snuggled into his side, and she was drawing languid spirals on Healy's forearm with her index finger. In a way, being so tactile with him now was an apology for what had happened earlier. They spent the day at the old house, with Healy helping the guy they'd hired to update the plumbing while Red was in her office, painting the walls a soft, pastel blue. After the plumber left, the couple decided to go out to dinner, since it was late, they were both exhausted and even Red had to admit that she didn't feel like cooking.

She'd begged him to take her out for pizza. She'd not had good pizza in more than a decade, and now she wanted it. They talked and laughed over dinner at the pizza place just as they did when they were home alone in Healy's kitchen. Everything had been going normally until he reached out and took her hand, holding it in his own on top of the table. The gesture caused Red to panic slightly, and the feeling escalated when she caught the eye of a young woman at the next table. The girl smiled in approval at what she thought was a cute older couple, but Red nevertheless wriggled her hand out of Healy's and then folded her hands in her lap.

Healy looked crestfallen, and Red spent the rest of dinner silently berating herself. Although she was adjusting to freedom in many ways, her fight-or-flight response had yet to fully catch up. When Healy took her hand, for the barest moment, she thought, "What if someone sees?" and reacted accordingly, as though she could still be punished for touching him and needed to be careful. In the car, on the way home, Red apologized, and explained herself.

"I understand," he said, but Red could see that he was still devastated. Being close to him now was her way of saying sorry, and Healy understood and appreciated that, although he knew that they would still have to deal with this later. Getting her to be comfortable with public displays of affection would simply take work, just like almost every other part of their relationship, but it would ultimately be worth it.

He recognized that Red's bringing up the topic of her sons was an effort on her part to distract him, to make sure he wouldn't think of earlier. Still, the discussion about her habitual avoidance of uncomfortable conversations could be had some other time. Right now, Healy tried to find the appropriate response to Red's statement.

"Really? They want to meet me?" he asked.

"Well, 'meet' isn't quite the word. More like, assess and intimidate."

Healy considered this. He knew that this would happen eventually. If he was going to be involved with Red, then of course her family would want to know him. That had seemed to just be common sense when he thought about it in the abstract. But now that they were talking about making it real…

The truth was, he knew very little about Red's sons, besides what their mother had told him. She never made any excuses for them, and had been honest about each young man's shortcomings (Yuri had a temper and a drinking problem, Vasily was a perpetual screw-up who couldn't keep a job, and Maxim was too sensitive and had struggled with a drug problem a few years ago). Still, Red was obviously a proud mother, and that colored the way that she regarded her children. It was also apparent, from the way Red talked about them, that her sons loved their mother, and would likely be incredibly protective of her, which could spell trouble for Healy. He was an outsider, and Red was talking about thrusting him into a situation he wasn't sure how to navigate. He'd never dated a woman who had children before, and Red's children were grown men who wouldn't be used to seeing their mother with anyone other than their father.

"I'd love to meet them," Healy said.

Red snorted. "You couldn't even make that sound sincere if you tried."

A jolt of panic shot through Healy. The last thing he wanted was for her to think that he wasn't willing to at least try to get to know her kids.

"I didn't mean it like…I mean…it's just…" he stammered.

"Relax, _dorogoi_ ; I understand," she said, kissing his cheek, "It's going to be strange for everyone. We're all going to be in this kind of situation for the very first time. But I've been trying to think of a way to minimize the awkwardness. I think it's best if it's just you and me and the boys. You can meet the wives and the grandkids later; I think introducing you to all of them at once might really overwhelm you."

Healy thought about this, but couldn't decide whether meeting Red's sons in a huge family setting would be any more or less terrifying for him.

"Yeah, that…that sounds good," he agreed.

"Don't be so nervous." She leaned forward, kissing him softly, and then penetrating his mouth with her tongue. After a few moments of delicious teasing, she backed away and continued, "Everything really is going to be fine. My sons are good boys, for the most part. Yuri is the oldest, so he's used to keeping the other two in line, and Maxim is a sweet boy. As for Vasily; well, he still has a healthy fear of his mother and knows that I won't hesitate to beat him with a blunt cooking utensil."

Healy chuckled at that. "I really do want to meet them. I don't want you to think that I don't. I'm just…scared that they won't like me."

"I know," Red said, "I can't promise that they will, or that it won't be awkward, but I can promise that I'll be there, and I'll make them behave if I have to."

"Oh, well; that makes me feel much better," Healy said, kissing her lightly.

When she had settled back into his embrace, she said, "I think we should do it on Friday. That way all three of them will be free, and you won't have to worry about going to work the next day. I'll be going to Litchfield that day to visit Norma, but I'm supposed to do that around noon, so if we have the dinner at around 7, that's plenty of time for me to cook and you to wind down from work."

"Sounds good," Healy agreed, though internally he was trembling. Friday was only two days away; that didn't give him much time to steel himself up to possibly having to do battle with three resentful young Russian men.

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask you," he said, in an effort to change the subject, "are you nervous about your visitation? I mean, first time back at Litchfield since you got out…"

"I'll be fine," Red said resolutely, "I'm not particularly excited to be going back, but this time I'll be a free woman, and I'll get to see my best friend. It'll be good."

Healy opened his mouth to speak, to let her know that it might not be as easy for her as she thought and to remind her that he was available if she needed to talk afterwards, but then he thought better of it. Red would think that she was being psychoanalyzed and she would resent it. They had already had one awkward moment tonight; Healy didn't want to rock the boat any more. So he said nothing, merely pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head, then turned his attention back to the TV screen.

 **Author's Note:** Next chapter is another long one, and I promise there will be plenty of drama and even a bit of fluff to set your little shipper hearts a-pitter-pattering.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: Chapter 7, in which shit gets real.

Learning to Fly

"So I've been wondering," Healy said, on the evening of the big dinner, while he helped Red by peeling potatoes, "Exactly how much have you told your sons about me? And about our…situation?"

"Situation?" Red said with a snicker, "You make it sound so dire." She wiped her hands on her apron and turned towards him, her face contorted into the saccharine smile she used when she was either teasing him or goading him into an argument. "And for your information, I've told them _everything_ , my dear. Including how we fucked in the greenhouse at Litchfield and made out in your office and how hard you made me come when you bent me over the arm of the sofa the other day."

Healy stared at her gape-mouthed, the potato he was working on slipping from his hand and onto the floor. He flushed deeply when Red laughed out loud at his obvious shock and horror.

"Damn it, Galina," he said, bending to pick the vegetable up from the floor, "You're not funny, you know."

"Yes, I am."

"Your sense of humor is seriously fucked up," Healy said, walking to the sink to rinse the potato off. "I was serious. I really do want to know what you've told them so that I don't…I don't know…slip up and mention something I shouldn't."

"I told them only what they needed to know," Red replied, "They know that you were my counselor in Litchfield. I don't think they're too happy about that; I know that Yuri isn't, but it is what it is. They know that we had a relationship on the inside, though I didn't go into any graphic details. And they obviously know that we're seeing each other now. The rest of it, they're free to figure out or imagine for themselves."

Healy nodded. All of that seemed reasonable, though it didn't make him feel any better. Red turned back to the stove, stirring the gravy in the pot in front of her, and together they peeled and stirred and prepped in silence. Healy had insisted on helping her in the kitchen, though he wasn't a chef by any stretch of the imagination. "Food preparation" for him generally meant tearing the film off a frozen dinner and reading the box to see how long he needed to nuke it. Red was working to remedy that, though she had realized what a challenge she was setting for herself when she'd discovered that he didn't even know how to properly slice a tomato.

If it were up to her, she would have confined him to the living room and told him to leave her alone as she worked. But this was his house, and she was hesitant to kick him out of his own kitchen as long as he wasn't wreaking any havoc. In a way, it was nice to have someone to talk to as she cooked. This was one of the only things she missed about Litchfield. In the glory days when she had been queen bee of the kitchen, she'd always had an army of underlings to boss around. More than that, though, preparing so much food, for so many people, had meant that she always needed someone working with her, so she always had someone she could chat with. Before prison, she'd constantly shooed her family out of her kitchen and created her culinary masterpieces in solitude, but now cooking alone felt depressing.

Although she had to admit that he was good for conversation, Red was also finding Healy to be a distraction. He worked diligently enough, but he insisted on having the radio on, and his humming along tore Red's attention away from her cooking. Besides that, he kept trying to get her to dance.

This was one thing she had discovered about Sam that she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to reconcile herself to: the man loved to dance. He wasn't particularly good at it, nor was he terribly graceful, but he did have rhythm, which was more than Red could say for herself. She had never been a dancer. Dancing made her feel foolish, because she was always self-conscious about how she must look, and she never quite knew what to do with her arms. Mostly, she managed to shrug Healy off when he tried to get her to move with him; only once that night had she let him take her by the hands and lightly twirl her around.

Now, with the gravy done and set aside, Red had nothing to occupy her and, when Healy sidled up to her and grabbed her left hand, she had no excuse for brushing him away as he tried to get her to dance.

"Sam, you have potato gunk all over your hands," she whined as he curled one arm around her waist and began to slowly rock her along to the beat of the Jackson Browne song on the radio. Nevertheless, she twined her arms around his neck, hesitantly moving with him.

This continued for a few minutes, before she finally said, "I have to put those potatoes on to boil." Healy didn't let her go, so she pulled away, attempting to extract herself from his arms. "Seriously, if I don't start those now, dinner won't be ready when my sons get here, and you won't like them when they're hungry."

Healy chuckled. "All right," he said, letting her go. As he did so, he noticed that Red's body tilted slightly to one side, and she seemed to waver on her feet. He put a hand on her hip to brace her, then took her hand again and felt it trembling.

"Galina, have you eaten recently?" he asked.

"Yes," Red said, lifting her chin defiantly. And then, when she saw that he didn't believe her, "No."

"Go get a snack; I'll boil the potatoes." Red narrowed her eyes and looked at him skeptically.

"I'm not going to fuck up your entire dinner in the span of time it takes you to eat a granola bar," he promised. With a roll of her eyes, Red relented and went to the fridge to grab some yogurt. Healy was right; it had been hours since she'd eaten, but Red had been feeling hazy and unsteady all day. She couldn't quite put her finger on why; she didn't remember waking up like that. Now that she thought of it, this all started right around the time she'd gone to Litchfield for her visit with Norma. She supposed that her blood sugar must just be out of whack today; there was no other explanation.

The doorbell sounded just as Red was finishing her yogurt, causing Healy to jump and her to chuckle softly at his nervousness. She supposed it was mean of her to laugh at him, but it was really adorable.

"That'll be one of the boys," Red said, "You go get the door; I'll finish up in here."

"Why do I have to be the one to get the door?" Healy asked.

"It's your house."

"They're your kids."

"Really, Healy?" Red put her hands on her hips. With a sigh, Healy left the kitchen and went to answer the door.

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Red's sons arrived one after the other. First came Vasily, wearing a scowl, grasping Sam's hand too tightly when he shook it and just generally refusing to make small talk. Next was Yuri, the eldest, carrying a bottle of wine as a peace offering but still looking at Healy in a way that reminded the older man of a lion sizing up its prey. Maxim was the last to arrive, with his baby in tow and many apologies for having to bring her along; apparently his wife had wanted to go out with her friends tonight and the sitter fell through.

"Don't apologize," Red said, lifting the infant from her carrier and holding the little bundle to her chest. She rocked the baby and occasionally crooned to her as the five adults sat together in the living room, all of them making awkward attempts at conversation except for Vasily, who sat next to his younger brother on Healy's sofa as silent and immovable as a stone.

When baby Ekaterina had been put down to sleep on the sofa, Red served dinner. As they ate, Healy looked around the table, taking the time to consider each of Red's children. Maxim sat next to him, and Healy was startled at how much Red's youngest resembled her; it was very obvious that she was his mother. It was less obvious with Vasily, whom Healy surmised must have gotten his dark hair and olive skin tone from his father. In contrast to his brothers, Yuri seemed to have gotten his looks from both of his parents equally; he had Red's coloring, but looked only a little bit like her besides that.

At first, the conversation had remained fairly neutral. Red asked about her daughters-in-law and her grandchildren, Yuri discussed the latest drama that he was having with his ex-wife, and Maxim filled everyone in on each and every detail of his daughter's development with all the excitement of a first-time parent. When the topic was on family, Red seemed confident and genuinely interested, leading the conversations. However, eventually the talk had turned to Healy, and Maxim asked about his job. This had, inevitably, brought the topic of the dinner conversation back to Litchfield. Healy answered the boys' questions about his work smoothly enough, but he couldn't help but notice that Red had gone silent. Additionally, she had put down her fork and was now just staring at her food, occasionally taking a deep sip from her wine glass, which shook in her trembling hand.

Healy was about to ask her if anything was wrong when, suddenly, the air was filled with a piercing cry, and it became apparent that the baby was awake and resented being left out of the dinner conversation. At the sound of the little girl's cry, Red jumped, causing some of her wine to spill onto the tablecloth.

"Ma?" Vasily said, "Are you okay?"

"I'm…I'm fine, honey," Red assured him, setting her wine glass down and then standing up, "I just…haven't been feeling well today. Excuse me." She left the table abruptly, disappearing down the hallway that led to the bedrooms in the back.

Healy and the boys all exchanged confused glances, and no one dared lift a finger as they waited for Red's return. After a few minutes of tense silence, more time than should have been necessary if she had simply stepped out to go to the bathroom, Healy rose from the table and made his way to the back of the house. As he walked down the hallway, he could hear muffled sobs coming from his bedroom. When he opened the door, he saw Red sitting on the edge of the bed, her face in her hands. She looked up at him, her mascara smeared around her eyes and a frightened look on her face, as though she were a child who had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She turned away from him, falling onto the bed and hiding her face in a pillow.

Healy said her name as he approached the bed, sitting down on the opposite side and reaching out a hand to lightly stroke her back.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly.

"I don't know," she said, her voice muffled by the pillow, "I don't know what happened. It was like I just couldn't breathe. I couldn't stay out there, Sam."

She lifted her head and sat up, her tear-glazed eyes looking into his as still more tears tracked down her cheeks.

"I can't stop crying," she said, her voice filled with a painful mixture of fear and desperation, "My heart…I'm going to have a fucking heart attack. Make it stop, Sam!"

He took her into his arms, and Red buried her face in his shoulder, soaking his shirt in tears and her streaming makeup.

"What's wrong with me?" she asked, "Am I going crazy?"

"No, _solnyshka_ ; you're not going crazy."

"Yes, I am, Sam; I'm crazy. I'm losing my fucking mind!"

"No," he said, "You're going to be fine." Suddenly, an idea came to him, something that he used to do with his mother when he was a child, to keep her tethered whenever he could see that she was about to float off into madness. He took one of Red's hands, ignoring the way that it shook and how cold and clammy her skin was. He placed her index and middle finger on her neck, right over where he knew her pulse was.

"Count your heartbeats," he ordered.

"What?!" she asked, "Why?"

"Just do it," he said, "Out loud."

She started counting, in Russian because she could barely sustain her English in her state of mind. She had to stop occasionally as a sob rose up in her throat. At first, her counting was fast, frenzied, but then her heart began to slow, her breathing returned to normal, and the tears finally ceased.

"Can I stop now?" Red asked, once she had gotten to _tridtsat_. Healy nodded. Just then, there was a slight rustling sound from the doorway, and Red and Healy both turned to see Vasily and Maxim standing there, wearing twin looks of awed concern.

"Go back up front," Red said, slowly and darkly. Both young men paled and slunk away. Red squeezed her eyes shut.

"That was so embarrassing," she said, "What the fuck was that?"

"You had a panic attack," Healy replied.

Red scoffed. "Impossible. I must just be sick. I've never had a panic attack before in my life."

"Well, I've seen plenty of them in twenty-plus years of counseling, and that was definitely a prime example. Have you been feeling anxious about something? Is there anything in particular that you think might have triggered it?"

Red glared at him. "Don't you fucking psychoanalyze me," she growled.

"Okay," Healy said. He got off the bed and went to his dresser, unbuttoning his mascara-smeared shirt and slipping on a plain black t-shirt. "I'll leave you alone, let you do whatever you need to do. But we'll talk about this later, Galina."

"You can't make me," she called out to his back as he left the room.

Red rejoined Healy and her sons minutes later, looking no different except for the fact that she had washed all of her makeup off. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between everyone present that no one would mention what had happened, and so the evening continued as normally as it could. Everyone chatted amicably (even Vasily made an effort to participate in the conversation) and passed around the baby, who was now very much awake and demanding attention. Healy held her uncertainly at first; he hadn't had a baby in his arms since his niece and nephew, now a freshman in college and junior in high school, respectively, were little. But little Katie, as her parents had taken to calling her, seemed to take a liking to him, even fussing when Healy passed her to her uncle Yuri.

After everyone left and the dishes had been cleared away, Red and Healy retired to bed. She lay atop the covers on her side of the king-sized mattress, staring up at the ceiling and thinking. Red gave Healy a small smile as he emerged from the bathroom, remembering how good he had been with her sons and the baby, and how comforting his arms were earlier when it felt like the walls were closing in on her. He returned the smile and crawled into bed with her, letting her lean her body against his.

"You know we have to talk about earlier," he said.

"No," she replied, "We don't. I don't want to."

"Well, too bad." She glared at him, but this was one battle that Healy was not going to give up on easily. "You had a panic attack, Galina, whether you admit it or not. If you don't deal with the root cause, they're just going to keep happening."

Red bit her lip, thinking. Although she would never admit it, Healy was right. Earlier he had asked what she thought the trigger was. She had a good idea, but she couldn't bring herself to voice it.

It was Litchfield; it all came back to that godforsaken shithole. All of her nightmares were about the prison, and every time she dreamed about it she woke up either crying or soaked in sweat with her heart about to tear out of her chest. She had felt fine today until she'd gone to see Norma. Being surrounded by those cinderblock walls again, seeing the familiar faces of the guards, knowing that they had all probably been talking and joking about her for the rest of the day, it had all made her feel sick. Her heart pounded the whole time she was in that visitation room. Knowing that Sam was close by in his office and having Norma there as an island of tranquility amidst the chaos had helped, but only marginally, and she had practically bolted back to her car when visitation was over. At dinner, she had been doing fine until Maxim brought up the prison.

"You're probably right," Red conceded, "But what the hell am I supposed to do about it?"

"You might consider counseling," Healy suggested.

"Are you serious?" she asked, turning to face him and lifting one eyebrow skeptically, "Who's going to counsel me? You?"

"No," he replied, "Counselors have to have a level of professional detachment from their counselees or they can't help them. You'd have to see someone else for sure."

"And why do you think that would work? I can't talk to a counselor; you know that."

"You used to talk to me," Healy said.

"Not about anything real!" she replied, "I complained to you about my defective appliances and you bitched to me about your marital troubles. That's all we did for years."

"You once told me that having me to talk to helped you," he countered.

"And it did. It still does. But not in a therapeutic way. Before we were lovers, we were allies, and it was nice to have an ally. But face it; you never actually counseled me on anything. I never opened up to you enough for that."

Healy considered this. She had opened up to him eventually, but by the time that happened, they had already become intimate, gleefully tap dancing right over the line of professional detachment.

"I still think it would be worth a try," Healy said, "You have to do something to deal with this, love. Promise me you'll at least think about it?"

"I'm already thinking because you won't leave me alone," Red complained. With a chuckle, Healy settled into the sheets, getting into his normal sleeping position and then draping his arm over Red's hip. She took his hand and squeezed it before lightly kissing the back.

"Yes, _dorogoi_ ," she whispered, "I'll consider it."

"That's all I ask."


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Arrrr, here be smut.

Also, school is starting on Monday, and my schedule for this semester is crazy. I promise I won't abandon this story. I just might not be able to spoil you all with super-frequent updates. I gave you a long chapter with both angst and smut this time to make up in advance for the probable delays.

Learning to Fly

Healy walked through the front door of his house in trepidation. Red's car was parked in the driveway, so he knew that she was there, but he wasn't sure what state he'd find her in. She'd had her first counseling session that morning. At first, she refused to go. Healy practically had to push her out the door as he was leaving for work. He half expected retribution for that—maybe he'd walk into the house only to be greeted by a book being hurled at his head. Then again, maybe Red had found that talking to a professional helped; maybe she would continue going back without Healy having to nag her.

He called her name, and Red's voice answered from the living room. He walked in to find her sitting on the sofa, holding a large square of fabric in one hand and a threaded needle in the other.

Red looked up from her work, noticing the way Healy's eyebrows quirked up questioningly.

"Needlepoint," she explained.

"I had no idea you did needlepoint," he said, sitting next to her.

"I don't. Didn't, anyway. When I was a teenager, I used to babysit this kid. Alexei Popov. Little shit. He was a nightmare, always running around breaking things and screaming at the top of his lungs. I wanted to smother him every time I watched him. I wouldn't have bothered at all, but my family needed all the extra money we could get. And then, one day, I came over to babysit and found him with some needlepoint—apparently his mother taught him how in hopes it would calm him down. After that, whenever he was rowdy, I just shoved his sewing in his face. I never had problems with him again."

Healy nodded. Interesting story, but it didn't explain anything.

"So, you suddenly decided to take up sewing because…nostalgia?" he asked.

Red rolled her eyes. "Because," she said, "I thought maybe it would help calm me down, too."

"Ah. So then I take it the counseling session didn't go well?"

The counseling session, it turned out, hadn't gone at all. For starters, the counselor insisted on calling her Galina, despite the fact that she explicitly asked him to call her Red. She had been Red ever since primary school, when, year after year, she'd always been the only ginger in her class. Using her given name was a privilege that her shrink had not earned, and his insistence on it made her hate him right off the bat.

Fifteen minutes of the hour-long session had been devoted to Red and the counselor staring each other down, and the rest of it Red had spent giving one-word answers to all of his questions. She'd walked out feeling no better than when she came in, and infinitely more pissed off. Of course counseling took time to work, and one couldn't expect to feel magically better after one appointment. Red wasn't an idiot; she knew that, but she also knew that there was no way in Hell she was ever going to be able to open up to anyone, and especially not to the asshole who had just taken $75 to do absolutely nothing for her. She'd gone to the hobby store immediately after her session and picked up the needlepoint kit. She figured that, since she obviously wasn't going to talk to a counselor and she would never consent to taking medication for her anxiety, maybe she should take up a nice, repetitive, soothing hobby.

Healy sighed when she told him all of this. Somehow, he had figured it would play out that way. The more thought he gave it, the more he began to realize that counseling might not be the best option for her. He was sorry, now, that he'd pushed her into it, but at least she didn't seem any worse for wear, and he was glad he hadn't let her dismiss it right off the bat without at least trying. He apologized anyway, though, because he knew that she'd appreciate it.

"It's all right," she replied, with an air of finality that let him know that he was never to bring up this particular subject again.

"Hey, do you want to do something fun tonight? We could go to dinner and a movie."

"Oh, but then you'd be distracting me from the most fun hobby ever," Red said, indicating her needlepoint, "And you know, we do still have leftover meatloaf from last night."

"The leftovers will still be there tomorrow. We don't have to go if you don't want to. Just thought I'd offer."

Red set her little project down on an end table. "Give me twenty minutes to put on some makeup and brush my teeth," she said.

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They both got more than a little tipsy at dinner. Red kept ordering white wine because, after the awful day she'd had, she reasoned that she could use a drink. Or two. Or four. Healy kept pace with her because he was no good at not drinking when other people around him were getting plastered.

In the movie, they had been the annoying assholes in the back of the theater who wouldn't shut up. They went to see some fluffy romantic comedy that neither of them found particularly funny. Healy made his own fun by spending the duration of the film mocking the leading man's hair which, in his drunken state, he pronounced "fucking stupid," while Red lamented the fact that all female characters in romantic comedies were hopeless idiots.

Surprised at not having been thrown out of the movie, Healy and Red walked into the movie theater lobby and headed for the exit. As they did, something stopped Healy in his tracks, and Red along with him. She looked over to where he was staring, and immediately every word of profanity in both Russian and English that she had ever learned in her life started darting around her brain at once.

There, by the snack bar, was the former Mrs. Healy. She looked as young and blonde and model-like as ever. And she was not alone. In fact, she was miles away from alone, since she was holding hands with a tall, dark, handsome man young enough to be Red or Healy's kid.

Healy looked as though someone had just punched him in the stomach, but Red's eyes narrowed in a glare that only got more threatening as the younger woman's gaze fell on them. To her credit, Katya looked just as startled as her former husband, and she dropped her date's hand as her cheeks began to turn bright pink. Healy put his arm around Red's waist, preparing to usher her quickly out of the theater.

Instead of moving with him, Red turned to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and pulling Healy in towards her. She kissed him hungrily and, for just a second, the panicked, what-if feeling began to rise up. Red immediately stomped it down. Of course someone was watching them; right now, that was the whole point. After recovering from the shock of Red's actions, Healy kissed her back, putting his hands on her hips. He pulled her closer, until he held her body so tightly against his that he could feel her nipples hardening through the fabric of their shirts.

When they broke apart, Red looked in Katya's direction just in time to see the younger woman huffing off and heading towards the restroom, leaving her date looking incredibly confused. With a laugh, Red grabbed Healy's hand and led him out of the theater, towards his car. Healy burst into a sudden fit of laughter on the drive home. Red turned to him, confused.

"Do you realize," he said, "that's the first time you've ever touched me in public?"

Red thought about this. He was right. She had gotten better about letting him put his arm around her or hold her hand outside of either of their houses, but she was never the one to initiate the contact. She couldn't really explain why she had done so tonight. She was drunk and jealous, no matter how irrational that jealousy may have been, and that had never been a good combo for Red. They were probably both lucky that making out in public was the worst thing she'd done.

When they got home, Red went to the bathroom to wash off her makeup and then change into more comfortable clothes. She came back to the living room to find Healy sitting on the sofa, one elbow resting on an end table and his cheek cradled in his palm, staring off into space.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked as she sat next to him.

"You already know," he replied. She did, and she could feel her face beginning to redden with jealous anger, but she wanted to hear him say it. Then, he continued. "It's not even her, so much. It's just…I'm thinking about me. About the kind of person I was when I married her. Lonely. Desperate. Angry. No wonder she never loved me."

"She never loved you because she's a stupid twat," Red said fiercely, "A lot of mail order brides would come into my market in the old days, and I grew up with a few girls who went that route. Nobody goes into it actually in love. The ones I knew when I was younger did it because they were poor and it was their only way out. A few mail-orders do eventually come to love their husbands, and most—when the husband turns out not to be a psychopath or an abuser—learn to settle, just like you do in any marriage. Your ex was just a stuck-up idiot who didn't realize how good she had it."

"But that's the thing," Healy said, contemplatively, "I'm not sure she did have it all that good. I tried, in the beginning. I wanted to please her so much. But she refused to be satisfied with anything; she didn't act the way I wanted her to act, so I lashed out. Towards the end, the only communication we had was me yelling at her. I'm not deluded enough to think that she would have learned to love or tolerate me if I had been better. At least, I'm not anymore. But remembering how I treated her, the kind of husband I was…" He shook his head.

Taking pity on him, Red crawled lightly into his lap, leaning her forehead against his and looking him in the eye.

"But you're not that person anymore, _lyubov_." Then she shrugged. "Or, you know, maybe you still are and I just don't notice because I'm an asshole, too."

Healy snickered. "Is that supposed to comfort me?"

"Well, it better, because that's about as comforting as I get," she said. Then, cradling his face in both of her hands, she bent down to kiss him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer and intensifying the kiss.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Healy?" Red asked when his hands came up to squeeze her breasts after they had broken the kiss.

"Yes. Is it working?"

"Not as well as it could." Red pulled away from him, grabbing the bottom of her shirt and pulling it over her head, leaving her chest bare to him. "Try it now."

And try he did, kneading her breasts hard and making her gasp, then taking each of her nipples into his mouth in turn. As he sucked her flesh, Red's hips began to rock against him. Normally she needed a bit more foreplay before she was this out of control, but kissing him at the movie theater had gotten her going, and she'd been hot ever since then. She deduced, from the bulge that she felt against her thigh, that he had, too. She broke away from him and sunk to the floor, kneeling between his legs and opening his pants, then pulling his boxers down to free his cock.

"Galina, what…oh. Oh god," he moaned as she took him into her mouth. She'd never done that before, and Healy hadn't wanted to push his luck by asking for it. Her lips and tongue on him provided so many new sensations that he almost couldn't deal with it, and he couldn't help but cry out and buck his hips into her mouth as she started to suck on him.

"Galina," he said breathlessly after only a few moments of this delicious torture, "You have to stop. I can't hold on much longer." When she didn't stop, Healy placed his hands on each of her shoulders, gently pulling her away. She looked at him questioningly as he guided her back onto his lap.

"I don't want to finish like that," he explained, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her leggings and pulling them down with her panties, "I want to come inside you."

She growled as she rubbed herself against him, teasing both of them mercilessly before finally taking him in and sinking down. The pace she set was fast, and, when she bit down on Healy's neck and then sucked hard, he understood that she wanted him to be rough. He squeezed her breasts again, so hard that she whimpered, but didn't stop riding him. Her pace still intense but, now that Healy could feel himself becoming, somehow, even harder and more turned on, not nearly fast enough.

He surprised even himself when the palm of his hand connected with her ass and the sound of flesh on flesh echoed through the room. Red's eyes went wide and her jaw dropped, but then she moaned and put her arms around his neck, pulling herself in closer so that she could take him deeper.

"You like that?" he asked.

"Yes," she whined.

"I can't hear you," Healy said, spanking her again.

"Yes!" she cried out, and then, "Fuck me, Sam. Fuck me harder."

Healy obeyed, thrusting up to meet Red every time that she sank down. He was so deep in her now that he was hitting places that hadn't been stimulated in forever, and, thanks to the way that she was positioned in his lap, his pubic bone was rubbing against her clit, sending shivers through her each time he moved his hips.

"Harder, Sam. God, I'm going to come…" She screamed as her orgasm hit her with such intensity that she was momentarily insensible, desperately grinding herself into him while muttering obscenities in Russian. After Healy had finished, too, she leaned against him limply, her cheek on his shoulder as they both struggled to catch their breath.

"I didn't know you liked being spanked," Healy finally said.

"Neither did I," she replied, "No one's ever done it before."

"Really?"

"I never had the inclination, and I would have given Dmitri more than a spanking if he'd ever tried it. You know," she said, looking up at him, "I can't figure out why Katya ever let go of you. You're…really good at sex." Puzzling good, actually. If she were being honest, Red hadn't really expected much from him when they'd started out. Their first encounter in the greenhouse was awkward as hell and nothing better than average. But now, she realized that this was due to the fact that she'd been nervous and he'd been cautious. Outside of Litchfield, free to love and explore each other, Red was finding Healy to be the best lay she'd ever had.

"I'm really not, you know," he said, blushing, "I mean, it's flattering of you to say, but I never was that great at it before. It's just with you that I'm like this. Just…something about you, or about you and me together…I can't even explain it."

"Maybe that's for the best," she replied, moving away from his lap and reaching for her clothes, "Some feelings don't need to be analyzed."

Healy, as he pulled up and buttoned his pants, grimaced. He recognized that statement for the subtle dig that it was. He grabbed Red's waist and pulled her gently back onto his lap.

"I really am sorry about that," he said.

"I know," she replied, stroking his cheek gently, "You were only trying to help, and it's not your fault I can't talk about feelings. But, on the bright side, I may have found an outlet for my anxiety that will let me fill your house with adorable cross-stitched pictures of kittens and flowers."


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Finally found some time to write! Yay!

Learning to Fly

As he watched her car speed away, Healy rubbed the red mark on his forehead and cursed under his breath. Both of them had known from Day 1 that this would happen eventually, but Healy hadn't been prepared for either the abruptness or the intensity of the fight. It started simply enough. They had just sat down to dinner, which, to Healy's dismay, was not up to Red's usual standards—the potatoes were undercooked, and the meat was overcooked, and everything pointed to the fact that she'd been distracted while she prepared everything. She had also visited Litchfield earlier that day, to see Nicky, and he couldn't quite believe her assertions that nothing was wrong.

Healy thought that he was being gentle when he broached the subject but, unfortunately, he was stupid and began the conversation with an observation about the quality of the food. This had been the spark that lit up Red's temper and, before Healy knew it, she was cursing at him and raising her voice. This, of course, made him lose his own temper. Amazing, how quickly he regressed back to that angry old asshole he had once been, matching her verbal blow for verbal blow. He had deserved to get hit with the Anne Rice paperback that Red threw at his face before grabbing her keys and bolting.

"Shit," he said as he went back into the house and looked around the living room. It hadn't even been six months since they had reconnected, and already her presence was all over his house. Two separate sets of her matryoshka dolls, one of them brought all the way from Russia decades ago, lined two shelves of his bookcase. Her books and a Russian newspaper were spread out over his coffee table, one of her better needlepoint projects was framed on the wall above the sofa. These small signs of her presence reminded him how much Red had begun to fill his life, and he thought about calling her, straight away, and apologizing for everything, begging her to come back so that they could talk and he could surrender all his anger and just hold her.

His hand was already curled around his phone when he realized that calling her wouldn't work, not now. It really was too soon. She wouldn't answer his call. And if she did, it would just be to curse him out and probably say more things that she would regret later. Better to give her some time. But he didn't want to give her time. He wanted her back, now.

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Yuri Reznikov walked into the small house that would, with just a few more minor repairs, soon be his mother's pastry shop. He was confused when he saw that his younger brother was the only one in the main room. Vasily sat behind the counters that they had just installed last weekend, texting and obviously waiting on someone.

"Hey," the older man called. Vasily greeted him without looking up from his phone.

"Where's Ma and Healy?" Yuri asked.

"Well," Vasily replied, "Ma went out to get some coffee for both of us. Don't worry, I told her you were on your way, so she'll probably get something for you, too. And Healy…umm…I don't know if he's coming."

"What? Why wouldn't he be coming? He's supposed to help us fix the door frames."

"Yeah…apparently he and Ma had a fight," Vasily said.

"She told you that?" asked Yuri.

"As if," Vasily snorted, "She's in a bad mood and when I asked about Healy, she almost bit my head off. It's kind of obvious."

"Damn," Yuri said, coming to sit on a stool across the counter from his brother.

"What? You're not actually sad about this, are you? Maybe they'll break up for good and she'll go back to Papa."

Yuri's eye roll was an almost-perfect facsimile of his mother's. "What are you, fucking eleven? She's never going back to Papa; it's been three years since the divorce. She wasn't happy with him, anyway. You know that. Anyway, I like Healy. He can be kind of a doofus, but he's a good dude."

Vasily shrugged. "I guess." In all honesty, he wasn't as averse to his mother's relationship with Healy as he led everyone to believe. Yuri was right; Healy was basically a good guy, and Vasily had respected him ever since he'd seen how Healy handled her panic attack during that dinner. Still, it was strange to see his mother with a man who wasn't his father, and it made Vasily uncomfortable.

"Anyway," Yuri said, "That man is ridiculously in love with Ma. Even you can't miss the way he looks at her."

Vasily was mimicking retching noises just as Red came through the front door. She looked at her middle child and raised her eyebrow.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asked, handing Vasily his coffee.

He shrugged. "Yuri just said something gross, that's all."

"Well, stop being immature and start working," Red said, her tone strict and threatening even as she kissed her oldest on the cheek and squeezed her other son's shoulder, "I want to have this place open in two weeks and it's not even close to ready. If you need me, I'll be finishing up painting the bathroom."

The little family group was about half an hour into their work when a car pulled up in the driveway.

"Ahh shit," Vasily said, peering out the window. Despite his reservations, he went to the door to let Healy in before the older man could knock.

"Vasily," Healy greeted.

Vasily nodded. "Healy." When Vasily said Healy's name, all three men jumped at the sound of a loud crash from the bathroom.

"Ma's in there," Vasily said, with just the slightest hint of amusement, "If you couldn't already figure that out."

"Yeah, thanks," Healy muttered, walking off to find Red.

Both of Red's sons continued working as they listened to the heated conversation in the bathroom. Occasionally one of them would turn to the other and alternately smirk or cringe at the sound of a particularly loud bit of Russian profanity or an equally loud "Damn it, Galina."

For a few seconds, the voices died down, and Yuri and Vasily both imagined Healy cowering beneath their mother's death glare, as their father had always done. When Healy walked back into the main room, however, his features were set in a look of steely determination, and he said nothing as he walked over to a pile of tools, picked up a nail gun, and went to work on his own, ignoring the two younger men as they helped one another.

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 _Chert cheloveka_ , Red thought bitterly as she attacked the bathroom wall with the paint roller. Damn him for showing up and making an effort to apologize and being so reasonable and smelling so fucking good, wearing that aftershave that she loved. She wasn't ready to be reasonable yet; she still wanted to cling to her anger. She didn't even know why, but she had some inkling, in the back of her mind, that it was because anger was easier for her to deal with than fear and pain.

 _You are not handling your shit well_ , she chided herself. It was the same thing that Healy had said to her two days ago during their fight, and he was right, damn him. After the wall was thoroughly covered, Red set the roller back into the paint tray, standing by the wide-open window and looking at her handiwork. The shade of blue-green she had chosen really was pretty, deep and mysterious like the sea. She was in love with it; maybe she would convince Healy to let her use the remaining paint to spice up his kitchen. Once she decided to talk to him again, of course…

Red's train of thought was interrupted by a scream, blood-curdling and primal. She heard something drop in the main room, then scrambling and someone, Yuri, yelling "Fuck, fuck, fuck," over and over again. She bolted, heading fast towards the source of the pained screams that were still echoing throughout the little house.

Red almost vomited when she reached the main room and saw the crimson mess all over the floor, and her heart nearly stopped when she saw that it was Sam who was injured, lying in a puddle of his own blood, white as a sheet and trembling as he yelled in pain, with a nail stuck straight through his left hand and still more blood spurting from the wound.

" _B'lyad_ ," she said, scrambling over to where Healy lay and kneeling down next to him, not even thinking of the blood that seeped into the fabric of her jeans. "Get me something I can use to stop the bleeding!" Red yelled at Vasily. Too late, it turned out; he was already in the kitchen, digging around for clean kitchen towels. Meanwhile, Yuri was grabbing his car keys, rushing to Healy's other side. After Red had managed to bind Healy's hand and stop the majority of the blood flow, both of her sons picking him up from the floor and moved him to the back seat of Yuri's car, where Red sat with him atop the towels that Vasily spread over the entirety of the seat to preserve the upholstery.

Healy leaned hard against Red all the way to the hospital, putting all of his weight against her and shivering in her arms. Later she would tell him that he was pressed so hard against her chest it felt like he was going to smother her. Despite this, she didn't move him; instead opting to stroke her hand up and down his uninjured arm while holding him tight and whispering to him comfortingly, occasionally dropping a kiss on the top of his forehead while Yuri's car sped towards the hospital.

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The next few days were a blur for Healy. The nail, as he would be told later, had pierced the bone, breaking it and sendin fragments ripping through the surrounding tissues. He had needed surgery, both to remove the bone fragments and to set the broken bone so that it could heal. Additionally, he'd needed a tetanus booster and a round of strong, intravenous antibiotics, which had necessitated an overnight stay in the hospital.

During this time, Red drifted in and out of his consciousness. He swore that he could smell her hair, feel her lips on his forehead as she bent to give him a kiss. He felt her hand, curled around the one of his that wasn't wrapped in gauze, and, once, he could even hear the familiar rhythm of her snoring. It was so real, but he was in such a haze from all the pain medication that he couldn't figure out if she was really there or if he was hallucinating.

When Healy finally experienced a moment of full lucidity, three days after the accident, he woke up to find himself in his bed. The covers were tucked tightly around him, and morning light covered everything in a soft glow. He shifted slightly, and saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. Her hair, wild and untamed on her pillow. Then he felt her body, her panty-clad butt just barely touching his side. She felt so warm, and Healy's only clear thought was that he needed her closer. He rolled over, trying to press his body against hers but, as he moved, he felt a stab of pain dart through his hand. He cried out and, in an involuntary gesture, his uninjured hand shot out and nudged Red in the back.

" _Shto?_ " she asked groggily, turning over. She roused herself when she saw that Healy was awake, throwing back the covers and leaving the bed. When she returned, Healy felt a pill being deposited onto his tongue, and the rim of a glass pressed to his lips. He swallowed the medicine, and then fell back onto the pillows, waiting for it to work.

"They have you on the same stuff they gave me after I was slocked," Red said, impulsively reaching out a hand to stroke Healy's hair, "It's going to make you feel like your head is floating away from your body, and then it'll knock you out. You've pretty much done nothing but sleep for the last few days."

"Galina?" Healy asked, his voice slurred.

"Yes," she said, lying back down and bringing the covers up over both of them, "I'm here, _dorogoi_."

"Are you?" he asked. She nodded, and then came forward to place a kiss on his lips, and that was all the proof he needed.

"This probably isn't the best time, since you're all doped up on the fun pills," Red said, "But…I just wanted you to know…I'm so, so sorry, Sam."

"For what?" Healy asked.

"Your hand."

Maybe it was the drugs, but Healy couldn't wrap his mind around her declaration. "It's not your fault," he said, "You didn't shoot me with the nail gun."

"But it is my fault," she countered, "You weren't paying attention to your work. You were distracted because of the fight. And the fight was my fault."

Healy shook his head. "Nooooooo…" he said, drawing the word out longer than he needed to as the medication began to cloud his thoughts. "Not your fault. Anyway, I forgive you." Then, after a pause, "What were we talking about?"

Red chuckled lightly. "Nothing, love. Just go to sleep."

"Okay." Healy put an arm around her shoulder, his hand stroking through her hair, delighting in the softness of it and the way the vibrant locks seemed to shift and ripple as he looked at them. "Your hair…getting long…god I love your hair." He burrowed deeper into the bedsheets, pulling Red more firmly against him. "Love you. So much, Galina." She was about to reply that she loved him, too, but what Healy said next stole the air from her lungs.

"Galina…" he said faintly, just before drifting off to sleep "Marry me…"

Author's Note: Omgz cliff hanger. I know, I'm fucking evil.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: Update! Yay!

Learning to Fly

Red took a sip from her coffee cup and looked around the shop. _So close_ , she thought. Everything was so close to being finished. Her two-week deadline for having everything done and ready to open was interrupted by Healy's accident, but staying with him and looking after him was something that she wanted to do, despite his protests that he was fine by himself. When she'd finally been able to come back and work on the renovations, there wasn't really all that much to see to. Mostly just painting and decorating.

She sighed and picked up the novel she'd brought along. The past week had taught her to truly appreciate the phrase "as exciting as watching paint dry," because that's exactly what she had mostly been doing. Red chuckled briefly at one of the few memories she had of Litchfield that didn't make her want to scream and throw things. She was thinking of the time that she told Chapman, "Life is better in black and white…and red." It seemed ironic now, in light of the fact that she'd chosen to decorate her shop mostly in shades of blue. Red had always been Galina's nickname because of her hair, rather than her color preference. Left to her own devices, she always chose shades of deep purple and watery blue.

Red tried to focus on the book in her hands, but thoughts were flying restlessly through her brain. She thought of how much her life had changed in the six months since being released from prison, and how far she had landed from what she'd always thought she would come home to once her time was up. For most of those years behind bars, Dmitri and her sons and her market were what she looked forward to most, and now she had lost or given up two of those things and somehow ended up with Sam Healy. Now she was so close to having what she had always wanted: a pastry shop of her own. And, soon, she would have a huge decision to make.

To her relief, Healy seemed to have forgotten about the question he'd asked her while out of his mind on the pain meds. The fact that he hadn't broached the subject again—and that, in the weeks since, life had been going on just as it always did—was an immense relief to Red. Still, she couldn't get it out of her mind. She had always known, from the moment the relationship began, that this would come up eventually. Sam Healy, despite how much progress he had made in eliminating his prejudices, was still a traditional man, the kind who could never be content to just live with a woman without putting some kind of name to the relationship. More than that, he was a consummate romantic, and even a gloomy love life followed by a disastrous marriage hadn't beaten that out of him. This was part of what made Red love him so much, but it was also what scared her.

She didn't know if she could face the prospect of another marriage. If it came right down to it, Red wasn't sure that she understood why some people found marriage so wonderful. For her, it had been a necessity. She had been born and raised in poverty, and she'd wanted out from the moment she was able to conceive of some kind of life beyond all the shit that kept the rest of her family mired down. As she'd gotten older and less optimistic, she had come to realize that there was no way she was going to get out of it on her own. There were so few opportunities in the USSR for the poor, and especially not for poor, single women. She could have been a prostitute or a wife and not much else.

In relating her life story to Sister Ingalls, all those years ago in the medical unit at Litchfield, she'd told the nun that she had chosen Dmitri because he was going to America, and that was true. In her neighborhood, every man under the age of 30 was "going to go to America someday," or, at least, that's what they told you to get you into their bed or the backseat of their car. Dmitri had been different. He already had family there, he had ambition, and he was really going to go. And, best of all, he was a short, stout, not-overly-attractive man who had worshipped the ground Red walked on ever since they met in high school. Getting herself engaged had been easy, and after that, Red practically ran down the aisle and made a point of getting pregnant as soon as she possibly could to seal the deal. And, together, she and Dmitri had come to America and built their life.

It was a successful marriage, but never had it been anything more, for her, than a marriage of convenience. This was the reason that Red was one of the few people who didn't judge Healy for having had a mail-order bride. She hadn't judged Katya for being a mail-order bride, either. She had judged the younger woman for being stupid and ungrateful, but not for the choice she had made. Her own husband hadn't paid for her, but the younger Galina's own reasons for getting married had not been so radically different than those of most mail-orders.

She'd never told Healy any of this. He would judge her for admitting that she'd been married for 23 years to a man for whom she felt affection, but never truly loved. Given his own marital history, it would probably also make him both angry and suspicious. But now she knew that she would have to, eventually. Healy hadn't even mentioned marriage in the few weeks since the pill-induced pseudo-proposal, which, Red reasoned, he probably didn't even remember. But now Red knew that it was on his mind. Eventually, the question would be well and truly popped, and she would have to tell him everything. She would have to tell him because the thought of another marriage—a real marriage, built on love rather than economic necessity—was such a foreign concept as to be almost inconceivable to her.

Love hadn't even been a consideration to twenty-three-year-old Galina when she said "I do." Love was something that had been made up for the movies or for love songs; it wasn't an actual emotion that real people could feel. Love was the lie that had gotten her mother saddled with a man who could barely provide for her and his children. Love was the trap her girlfriends fell into that got them chained to junkies and alcoholics, or cast out of their families for getting pregnant out of wedlock. Love was for fools, or so Red had believed all her life. Until Healy happened. Somehow—Red still didn't know how or why or even when—he had made her love him, and she was still learning how to navigate that, and it was hard enough without having to think about marriage and everything that came with it.

She took another sip of her coffee, and then almost spit it out when the phone rang, making her jump in her chair. She glared at the device on the table in front of her and considered ignoring the call, but at least one of her sons called her every day, and if she didn't answer, they started sending frantic texts. When she looked at the screen, she saw that it was Healy calling her. Odd; he never called. Then again, that was because they were almost always together. Officially, she still lived with Maxim, but only because it was one of the conditions of her parole. In practice, though, she had all but moved into Healy's house; she only went to Maxim's now for family visits and weekly meetings with her parole officer.

"Hello," she greeted.

"Hey," his voice said on the other end of the line, "I was just calling to see if you were okay."

Red rolled her eyes. "Really? You're as bad as the boys. Why do you all think I'm going to spontaneously combust if I leave your sight for more than a few minutes?"

"Sorry," Healy said, "I don't; I promise. It's just…you said you'd be home an hour ago. So I was wondering what was keeping you."

Red held the phone away from her face and checked the time. Damn; he was right.

"Sorry, _lyubov_ ," Red said, "I got caught up doing some last-minute things here. I didn't realize the time." She stood up from the table and walked around the shop, closing the windows that she'd left open to let out the paint fumes. "I'm just finishing up here; I'll be home in a bit."

"Oh, well, good, because I have a surprise for you."

Red's heart dropped into her stomach.

"Oh, no," she said, trying to sound casual while visualizing nightmare images of him down on one knee or rings in a glass of champagne, "Should I be afraid?"

"Possibly," Healy said, "I guess you'll have to come home to find out."

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When Red entered the house, she was greeted by the unmistakable smell of fresh food. She followed the aroma to the kitchen, where she found Healy pulling a tray from the oven.

"You cooked," she said, unsure if that was meant to be a statement or a question.

"I did," he replied, "Pork chops, gravy, potatoes, carrots. I even made garlic bread."

"When did I teach you to make pork chops?" Red asked. Lately, she had been showing Healy how to make a few things here and there, and she was surprised at how quickly he caught on, despite never having been shown how to prepare food before. His making dinner was an even more impressive feat considering that his hand was still healing.

"You didn't. I found a recipe online. I followed it, and I didn't fuck it up" he replied, cutting a piece of pork chop, then forking it and holding it out to her. Red stared at it suspiciously. "Come on," Healy coaxed, "Don't make me talk to you like you talk to Katie when you're trying to get her to eat her baby food."

"Do that, and you die," she replied, taking the fork from him and tasting the food. It was surprisingly good, and she told him so, happy to see him smile proudly. At his urging, she went to sit at the table, letting him serve her. This, she reflected, was a nice change. She would never give up her kitchen, but it was nice to come home from working on the shop all day and not have to make dinner on top of everything else. Healy sat down with his own plate, and began eating, while Red sat and only picked at her food.

"What's wrong?" he asked, "Did I screw something up after all?"

"No," she replied, "The food is good." He still looked concerned, so Red gave him a smile. "Not as good as I could have made," she said, in an attempt at humor, "But still pretty good."

"Are you really not going to tell me what's the matter?" he asked.

"It's not something I feel like talking about," Red said, "Remember what I told you about not making awkward situations even more awkward?"

"Remember what I told you about bottling up your emotions?" Healy countered.

Red sighed and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked at him contemplatively, the way she did regularly, whenever she was trying to figure out whether or not to tell him something.

"You proposed to me," she finally said. Healy's fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

"Excuse me? What?" he asked.

"A few weeks ago," Red clarified, "When you were totally stoned on pain medication. You asked me to marry you. I've tried to ignore it, because you were high at the time and you obviously don't remember. But I can't."

"I'm…" Healy stuttered, "I'm sorry, Galina."

"Sorry that you proposed?"

Healy shook his head. "No. I mean, yes. That is…I'm sorry it happened that way. And that it upset you."

Red took this in, thinking through his words. "So…you were planning to…"

"Galina," Healy said, "I think you've always known…I mean, I just assumed that someday…is that not what you want?"

"I don't know," she said, biting her lip, "I honestly don't, Sam." She took a deep breath, then looked into his eyes. He looked hurt, and she could only imagine what deductions he must be making. "I don't want you to think that I don't want to be with you. I do, indefinitely. It's just…marriage is so…I don't know…"

Red picked her fork back up, and began attacking her food, more as a distraction than anything else. Healy followed suit, and they ate in silence until his plate was clean and she was full.

"I don't even know if I believe in marriage anymore," Red said honestly, looking at the ceiling, her wine glass, the window, anywhere but at Healy, "I guess I just…don't see the point. I'm not against it, though. If you want it."

"I want you to want it, too," he replied, standing up and beginning to clear the dishes. Red watched him as he put them in the dishwasher and began spooning things into containers. She had hurt him. She knew it, and she hated it. She stood up, emptied her wine glass, and brought it with her to the sink.

"I didn't say never," she said, turning to him, "I just said that, for now, I'm not sure. But I'll keep thinking about it." She reached for his hand, folding it in both of her own. "Can that be enough for now?" Then, she added, "Since I don't even consider what you said while stoned a real proposal, seeing as how you also thought I was the Queen of Hearts and said you wanted to speak to the captain of this starship because housekeeping misplaced your frog?"

Healy couldn't help chuckling at that. "Did I really?"

Red nodded. Still laughing, Healy pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head lightly.

"Yes," he finally said, "Don't worry about it. Everything is fine…your majesty."

Author's Note: I just couldn't resist slipping a low-key Star Trek reference in there, since I'm currently watching and marveling at our girl Mulgrew in Voyager. Also, next chapter...there will be angst.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: So, trigger warning: this chapter deals with sexual assault. It's not depicted, but it's discussed. Please skip this chapter if this might be an issue for you.

Learning to Fly

Even after six months, Healy was still getting used to having a woman in his house. It was especially mind-blowing each time that the woman in question would look up from her cooking and smile at him whenever he came home from work and stepped into the kitchen. Before Red, he was alone in the house for two years, and had grown used to coming home to silence and emptiness. Even before then, there had been Katya. She never cooked, and always let him down in those times when he'd had a hard day at work and just wanted the barest hint of affection.

Now, though, stepping through the front door, he could hear the radio, and Red singing in the kitchen. He stood in the doorway, watching as the Russian woman serenaded little Katie, who watched from her high chair as her grandmother swayed to "Rock Me Gently" by Andy Kim. Red danced over to the stove to stir the pot she had left on the burner. She hadn't yet noticed Healy, nor had she heard the front door opening and closing over the music, so she was still oblivious to his presence. As she stirred, he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head on top hers. Instead of melting into him as he expected her to, Red froze, her body going rigid.

"Let go of me," she said, through clenched teeth. Healy instantly obeyed, and came to stand alongside her, the frown on his face betraying his worry.

"Galina, what's wrong?" he asked.

Red ignored him, continuing to stir. Finally, she turned to him and said, "Get a spoon from the drawer and come taste this sauce. I'm not sure I put enough garlic in."

"Gladly, once you tell me why you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad," she said.

"Then why are you acting so strangely? What is it; what did I do?"

"Nothing, Sam; everything is fine," she replied, her words tight, clipped and laced with annoyance. Healy opened his mouth to speak, but she glared at him. "Seriously, just drop it. I'm not in the mood for discussion and the last thing I want is you trying out your psychobabble bullshit on me."

She looked over to where Katie was, and noted that the baby's eyes were closed and she seemed to have nodded off.

"I'm going to go put her down. Don't touch the food while I'm gone; I don't want you messing up dinner."

With that, she picked the baby up and silently carried her to the guest bedroom, which was slowly and unintentionally being converted into a nursery the more time Katie and Red's other grandchildren spent at the house. Healy stood in the kitchen, frozen. He tried desperately to retrace every interaction that he and Red had so far that day, even dipping into the previous night, to try and figure out why she would be angry at him. He could think of nothing that he might have said or done to set her off.

He'd moved into the living room and was on the sofa in front of the TV when Red returned, ignoring him and heading straight for the kitchen. She turned off the radio, and everything was silent except for the drone of the television. Suddenly, Healy heard the ringing of metal, as though she'd dropped something. In fact, Red had stood at the stove for several minutes, gripping the underside of the counter so hard that her knuckles turned white and trying to calm herself down. Finally, unable to take it any longer, and feeling the tears on her cheeks, she had experienced a moment of rage and thrown the spoon that she was using to stir the sauce. There was now a red stain on the far wall where the utensil hit. She would have to clean that up later, and she was afraid that the noise would wake the baby. When she heard no crying, she gave up, turned the stove off, and went into the living room with Healy.

To his surprise, she joined him on the sofa, laying down across it and putting her head in his lap. Healy reached out and stroked her hair. When she didn't shrink away, his hands moved lower to gently massage her shoulders.

"Did you have a bad day today, _solnyshka_?" he asked. Ever since her first panic attack, "a bad day" had come to mean a day in which, despite the fact that she was now on "happy pills," as she insisted on calling them, her anxiety still couldn't be gotten under control.

"I was fine, until you came up behind me just now," she replied.

"I'm sorry. Is that a trigger?"

He felt her shoulders lift into a shrug beneath his hands. "Apparently." It made him feel slightly better that even she hadn't known. It made sense, though. Vee had come up behind her three years ago and almost killed her with a lock in a sock.

After a few minutes of silence, she spoke again. "It did scare me to have you behind me, but not for the reason you're probably thinking."

"What do you mean?" Healy asked. Red bit her lip and took a deep breath.

"Do you remember a few years ago, when I got busted for Mendez's drugs?" she asked. Of course he did; how could he forget? "And you remember how I told you that he was always harassing me?"

"Yes," Healy said. She had told him that Mendez psychologically tortured her, coming into her kitchen at random and making lewd remarks, pissing in her gravy, threatening to kill her…and touching her, slapping her ass and grabbing her tits. That was what made Healy's blood boil the most. At the time, she had put up a brave front because she was Red and she would never allow anyone to see her sniveling and afraid, but she later admitted to Healy that the guard's harassment had scared her half to death.

"Well…one day I was in my office, standing at my desk looking through some papers, and he came up behind me and…" She paused, steeling herself up for the confession she was about to make, "He grabbed me. I tried to get him off of me, but he was so fucking huge, and he was so strong; he had me practically paralyzed. He…he put his hand down my pants…"

"Oh god…" Healy said. His hands had stilled on her shoulders.

"He touched me…all over…down there. And then, he put his fingers…" She broke off then, unable to say anymore, letting the confession hang in the air.

"Oh, Galina," he said. She sat up, cross-legged on the sofa, and stared at him. He was surprised by how composed she was; the only sign of her agitation was in the way that her hands trembled in her lap. "I'm so sorry, _solnyshka_."

Red shrugged. "It's done. It's in the past."

"But that doesn't make it all right. That never should have happened to you." Oddly enough, Healy couldn't help but feel personally responsible. Keeping the inmates safe was his responsibility, and this had happened on his watch. He had failed her.

"Why didn't you come to me after it happened?" Healy asked.

"What would you have done?" she countered.

Besides kicking the ever-loving shit out of Mendez? "I would have seen to it that his ass got canned and locked up," Healy said angrily, "That we got him the fuck out of there before he could hurt anyone else."

"He already was hurting others," Red said, "He did for a long time. He was the one who killed Tricia with his drugs, and what he did to me was nothing compared to some of the things he did to other girls, especially the younger ones who didn't know how to protect themselves. Telling you or anyone else wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference. Caputo didn't want to deal with anything real. He fucking hated me anyway; he wouldn't have cared."

"Be that as it may, he couldn't have just blatantly ignored…"

"Yes, he could have. Fig did. Mendez got caught literally with his pants around his ankles, raping that Diaz girl, and he got a slap on the wrist _and_ he got to come back. There was no justice in there, Sam, not for inmates who were mistreated. Criminals deserve whatever horrific shit happens to them behind bars."

"You did _not_ deserve what happened to you, Galina," he said fiercely, taking one of her hands in both of his. "I am so, so sorry. I wish I had been there to protect you like I should have."

"It wasn't your fault," she said. She moved closer to him, landing on his lap and putting her arms around his neck. Her body, he thought, felt comforting against his, as always. Mentally, Healy slapped himself for thinking that way. She was the one seeking comfort right now; she shouldn't have to comfort him. He should be the one offering support to her. Healy put his arms around her and stroked her back soothingly.

Red felt as though she should cry, but no tears would come. She had never cried over the incident with Pornstache; it had been all silent rage immediately after, then the desire for revenge. Then, after losing her kitchen, she had briefly allowed herself to wallow in misery. Eventually, though, she simply swallowed her sadness and anger and moved on, as she'd always done when life bitchslapped her. She hated knowing that it still affected her, though, and that now it was creeping into her relationship with Sam. She had thought that she was doing so well in blocking it all out and forgetting.

"Have you talked to anyone else about this?" he finally asked.

She shook her head. "No. You're the only person who knows. I don't like to talk about it. I'm only telling you now because I felt like I had explain what happened earlier. I didn't want you to find out."

"Why not?" Healy was terrified that she would say she hadn't expected him to be sympathetic or understanding. If he'd known, he would have done things so differently. He wouldn't have let them rush into intimacy, he would have been so much gentler with her, the first time and every time afterwards.

"I didn't want you to treat me like a victim," she explained, "And I thought that maybe, if you knew…maybe you wouldn't want me anymore."

" _What_?"

"It's just…it's so repulsive…he made me feel so disgusting…"

"I could never be disgusted with you, _dorogaya_ , especially not because of something that you had no control over." Red was rigid in his arms, and her face was pressed so tightly into his flannel-covered chest that it was a miracle she could still breathe. Healy felt her body tremble, and then her shoulders began to shake, and the wetness he could feel seeping through his shirt made it apparent that she was crying. When her tears turned to sobs, Healy stroked her back, whispering to her softly and taking one of her hands. He brought her fingers up to his own neck, just above his pulse point, and gently ordered her to count. She did, silently, feeling his heartbeat, steady and solid, beneath his skin, and as she counted, her breathing became steady again. It was amazing how he could do that, how he had become so attuned to her that he knew when she was losing control and how to help her. Even more amazing was the fact that she had let him in enough that she allowed him to take care of her and didn't resent him for it afterwards.

"Sam," she whispered, her voice still choked with emotion, "Why do you love me so much?" No man had ever been so good to her, not even Dmitri.

"How could I not love you, Galina?"

She pulled away, looked into his eyes, and he watched a solitary tear trail down her cheek. She shook her head when he reached out to brush it away. "I don't deserve it, Sam"

" _Solnyshka_ …"

"No!" she said fiercely, "I'm so fucked up. Everything has been so crazy for so long that I don't even know how to do normal anymore. I know I drive you insane, I run hot and cold all the time, and I come with all this baggage. And I…I don't know how to love. Not really, not like you deserve. I'm…I'm doing it all wrong…"

He pulled her to him, rocking her gently and letting her cry.

"There's so much, Sam…so much you don't know. Because I couldn't tell you. Because I knew you would hate me…" Almost against her will, Red found herself confessing everything, telling him of all the men who had come before Dmitri, the men to whom she had given herself willingly and the one that she hadn't, the circumstances of her marriage and how she had, essentially, used her husband for economic security, all the things she'd seen and done while involved with the mafia, the crimes she committed for which she hadn't been caught, including the dismembered corpse she'd allowed Ganya and his people to store in her freezer. "You have to understand," she said, "I was just trying to survive." Like that was an excuse, as if it absolved her, made her less of a terrible person. As if it would make him less horrified at all of these revelations.

When Red had finished, her eyes were burning from crying so much. She shook her head and moved to sit up and get off of him, figuring that he would want her as far away from him as possible. Instead, he held fast to her, keeping her in place against his chest.

"Galina," he said softly, "Nothing you've told me changes anything."

She looked at him in bewilderment, and he came forward to kiss her softly.

"I've loved you for years," Healy whispered, "Maybe since the first time I saw you; I don't even know anymore. That's how long it's been. I knew what you had done; I knew you had a criminal history going into all of this. I mean, it was kind of obvious…" He cracked a smile when he looked at her, which made her let out a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a bitter laugh, "What I'm saying is, I don't care. I don't care who came before me, or what you did, or what was done to you. We're here now. We're together. That's what matters."

"Sam…" she said in protest, not understanding how he could even look at her, why he still wanted her.

"Shh…" Healy kissed her forehead. " _Ya tebya lyublyu_ , Galina." His lips brushed over her tear-streaked cheeks, and then her nose. When their lips met, Red poured all her emotions into the kiss, molding herself so closely to Healy's body that she felt like she could sink into him. _How?_ she asked herself silently, _How in the hell did I get so lucky?_ After Red broke the kiss, she rested her head on his shoulder, and they stayed like that, just holding each other, until the baby woke up and had to be taken care of.

Author's Note: I hope I handled this with sensitivity and I haven't offended, alienated or traumatized anyone. I worry about that when I write stuff like this. The Mendez plot line came to me and I couldn't not write it. Next chapter will be a million times lighter and nicer, and nothing else in this fic will be nearly as dark.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: So, this chapter contains sex. But it's not smut. It's classy and romantic lovemaking. So there.

Learning to Fly

Healy was drifting on the outer edges of sleep. The only thing that kept him from falling straight into the abyss was Red's restlessness. For half an hour, she had been tossing and turning and rearranging her pillows every few minutes. When she shifted once again, her foot inadvertently hit Healy in the shin, causing him to cry out and move away. He reached for the lamp on the bedside table, flooding the darkened room in light and giving Red an annoyed glance.

"Sorry," she said, her voice groggy. Despite her constant movement, she was really quite tired, but she couldn't fall asleep because her back was killing her. She had been moving furniture all day, getting ready for the grand opening of her shop, which was just a few days away. Vasily and Maxim helped her, but she stupidly decided that they weren't working fast enough and, if they were ever going to get out of there and go home, she would just have to move a few tables and chairs as well. She was paying for her impatience now.

"Is your back bothering you?" Healy asked. She nodded.

"My muscles are throbbing," Red replied. Healy slid and arm around her waist, gently massaging the small of her back and making her groan.

"The real pain is higher up," she said. He pushed on her back, urging her to flip over. When Red obliged, Healy removed her t-shirt and went to work, kneading and rolling her aching muscles beneath his hands. He was no masseuse, but six months of living with Red had taught him a thing or two about massage. He knew just where to press and how much pressure to use, and, as she felt her sore muscles loosening up, Red was grateful that he was willing to take the time to help her.

"Why does having a massage feel so good?" she asked absently, "There's got to be some kind of reason for it. Something to do with pressure points and toxins and—ooooh! Oww!"

Healy removed his hand from her back. "Sorry," he said.

Red shook her head. "No, you didn't hurt me. I mean, you did, but it was a good hurt. Don't stop." Healy obeyed and, after a few moments, the tension in the muscle he was pressing had abated significantly. When Healy finished, Red snuggled up beside him, kissing his temple and then his cheek while whispering her thanks. Healy pecked her lips lightly, then moved to roll over, only to be stopped by Red's grasping arms around him and her lips at his neck.

"You said you were too tired for sex earlier," Healy said, pointedly ignoring Red's fingers as they skimmed up and down his arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Your massage energized me," she replied.

"What if I'm too tired now?" he asked. He meant to play hard-to-get, but couldn't contain the moan that escaped his lips as Red simultaneously dipped her hand below the covers and invaded his pants while her tongue began to gently stroke the sensitive skin of his neck. He was already halfway erect, and the way that Red stroked him was driving him crazy. Useless, now, to even pretend that he wasn't interested. He turned around, trapping her beneath him.

Wordlessly, she slid closer, allowing him to take her in his arms and kiss her. Their lips pressed together softly at first, and then the tension mounted as his hands roamed over her body. His fingers were everywhere, rubbing her back one moment, and then sliding under the waistband of her panties to clutch her ass. Red let out a high-pitched moan when his mouth descended down her body to engulf one of her nipples.

"God, I love your tits," Healy said against her chest.

Red snickered. "Do you? I didn't know that. It's not as if you tell me that every single time you see them."

"Just to emphasize how much I love them," he replied, taking the other nipple into his mouth and drawing a strangled whine from Red as he sucked. As he alternated between Red's breasts, Healy's hand moved from the back of her panties to the front, stroking her through the fabric. He had planned to simply ghost over that area before moving on. Red would occasionally let him put his hands there, but she didn't tolerate it well unless they were already in the middle of intercourse, and she didn't like for him to linger. At first, he had simply accepted this at face value as one of her quirks but, now that he knew what had happened with Mendez, he understood it, and was especially careful. He made a move to break the contact and trail his hand up her hip, but then Red groaned.

"No," she said, her voice already husky and breathy with arousal. Instantly, Healy removed his hand from her pants, ready to shower her in apologies, but Red caught his wrist and held him in place.

"No," she repeated, "I meant…you can touch me, Sam."

When she let go, Healy cautiously slid his hand back into her panties, brushing his fingers over her hip.

"Okay," he said, "But do you want me to?"

"Yes," she replied, without hesitation, and then, "I trust you, Sam."

He kissed her as one of his fingers penetrated her folds and found her clit. Her hips thrust up into his hand when he touched her there, and she groaned into his mouth. Red's moans and occasional breathy affirmations guided Healy as he explored her. He hadn't spent too much time pleasuring her with his fingers, but he was enjoying doing it now, feeling himself grow increasingly more aroused as he found all of the little spots that made her cry out and quiver. Once, when he hit a certain spot, he felt Red's leg shake against his, and, thinking that this was simultaneously the sexiest and most amusing thing he'd ever experienced with her, he stroked that spot over and over so that he could feel that spasm again.

When she said his name, it was apparent from the timbre of her voice that she was only minutes away from coming. "Put your fingers in me," she whispered.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" she cried out, "Just do it."

Healy ceased the rhythm of his fingers against her, pulling his hand back slightly and then, slowly, gently inserting his index finger into her depths, groaning as he felt her internal muscles clench and then relax. After a few experimental thrusts, Red begged him for more, and he added another finger, gently stretching her as he began to thrust in earnest, encouraged by the soft mews of pleasure that escaped her lips. Her hips began to buck wildly when Healy brushed his thumb against her clit, finding the same spot he'd hit on before and making her throw back her head and say his name in a high-pitched whine. Her orgasm hit suddenly. Before he had really had enough time to savor the silken feel of her around his fingers, he could feel her vaginal walls rippling, and her thighs clamped shut, stilling his hand as she trapped his fingers inside of her and rode out the waves of pleasure.

"Oh, Sam," she muttered when she finally collapsed against the pillows, "Oh, that was so good." Red moved into his embrace and kissed his forehead. Their lips met, gently, and they spent what seemed like hours just kissing softly before his tongue slid into her mouth, exploring, tracing over her cheeks, her teeth, and then tangling with her own tongue.

She reached behind her, maneuvering her pillow beneath her hips. They had found out, through trial and error, that having her hips elevated and her tailbone resting on something soft made the missionary position so much easier on her back. He moved on top of her swiftly, tangling a hand in her vibrant hair as he kissed her and lightly stroked the head of his cock over her entrance, teasing her, making her moan softly.

She grabbed his face, placing her hands gently on each of his cheeks and lightly stroking her index finger over the prominent freckles at his left temple. Healy claimed her lips as he entered her, and Red sighed softly.

"Yes, _dorogoi_ , oh god, yes," she moaned as he began to move. He set a pace that was almost maddeningly slow, but the angle of Red's raised hips allowed Healy to hit that spot inside of her that caused starbursts of pleasure to radiate out from her center. She languished in the feeling, recognizing that it was rare for them to be able to align so perfectly and savoring the moment.

Her legs came up to wrap around his waist, which allowed Healy to go deeper. In shifting this way, he inadvertently moved in such a way that his pubic bone covered the area above Red's clit. The friction was delightful, and she gasped at the contact.

"Is that good, _lyubov moya_?" he asked.

"Yes. Yes, Sam, don't move. Just keep— _oh, b'lyad, tak khorosho_ ," she whined, feeling herself swept up in the current of passion. Her orgasm was a slow burn, beginning at her center and then radiating outwards in soft bursts of pleasure. She clung to him as she came, her limbs wrapped around him and their bodies pressed so close together it felt like they could melt into one another. He came with her, spilling inside of her when he felt her muscles begin to spasm, her orgasm picking him up and dragging him along with her.

Even after he had stilled, Red refused to let him go. He pulled out of her gently, and moved to roll over, but found himself immobilized when she squeezed him and pressed her body closer to his.

"Don't go anywhere," she whispered, "Stay with me."

He kissed her gently. "I'm here, Galina."

She nodded, lifting herself up to kiss him. They held each other for the longest time, before Red felt an ache beginning in her lower back and had to get out from under him. She rolled onto her stomach, cushioning her head on her folded arms and then looking over at Healy.

"What in the hell was that?" she asked. Healy frowned in confusion, turning over onto his side to face her and gazing into her eyes, which were wide in wonder, the pupils still dilated.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, really," she mused, "It's just…felt different this time. It's never been like that. And I don't just mean this," she waved her trembling hand between them, "I mean…ever."

"Not a bad kind of different, I hope?" he questioned.

She shook her head. "No. A very good kind. Did it not feel different to you?"

Healy took a moment to consider this, replaying the last half an hour in his head. It had felt different, but his head was still swimming with the aftershocks of his orgasm, and he couldn't put his finger on why.

"Yeah," he finally agreed, "It did. More…passionate, somehow. Better. Not that it's not always good. I always enjoy making love to you."

He kissed her temple, and Red thought about what he'd said. Making love. She'd always hated that phrase, thought that it sounded sentimental and trite. But now…now, it seemed to fit. In that moment, Red realized why everything felt so different between them now. They hadn't just fucked or had sex…they made love; every emotion that existed between them had been channeled through their bodies, and it had been electric. And she had never even known it was possible.

Something else occurred to her, and she snickered, then gave in to full-on laughter. Healy, beside her, looked at Red like she was crazy.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Nothing in particular," she replied, running a hand through her sweat-soaked hair, "I just realized…I'm 53 years old. I was married for most of those years, and I've never felt anything like what you made me feel just now. It's either laugh about it or feel sorry for all the time I wasted not having amazing sex with you. God, if you had been around when I was young I never would have married or fucked anyone else. Where were you all those years ago?"

"On the other side of the planet," he said, recalling a conversation they'd had before the feelings between them were even acknowledged, let alone indulged.

She smiled softly. "And then the other side of the state, and then the other side of the bars…"

His mouth over hers silenced her. "But not anymore," he said against her lips. As they kissed, Red made a decision, one which now seemed the most important one she'd ever made in her life, and the most right.

"Sam," she said when they parted, "Ask me again."

He furrowed his brow in confusion. "Ask you what?"

"You know what. Just ask me."

Comprehension flashed in Healy's eyes. He moved his mouth, but he was so shocked that no sound came out. Finally, he pulled himself together and took Red's hand. "Galina," he said softly, "Will you be my wife?"

"Yes," she replied, steadily and with certainty.

"Yes?!"

She nodded, kissing him again and allowing him to take her into his arms, where she now knew that she belonged.

Author's Note: Yay Red finally came to her senses. I'm not going to write a wedding scene because I effing hate wedding scenes in fanfics, but I'll make up for that in other ways. Also, only two more chapters left to go in this fic, but that doesn't mean I've run out of ideas. Time permitting and if my muse doesn't desert me, there just might be another story in the works. Might.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: Arr, here be fluff.

Learning to Fly

Healy arrived at Red's shop just as she was seeing the last customers of the day out. He opened the door for the two old ladies as they left, and then entered the shop.

"Lock that door and draw the blinds," Red commanded from her place behind the counter.

As he did so, Healy said, "You seem eager to shut down. Was today really that bad? Or maybe it was that good and business was booming?"

"Business was actually pretty vigorous today," Red replied, "Probably because it's Valentine's Day. It's the best we've done since we opened." In addition to advertising in the local paper, Red had Maxim promoting the bakery on social media. She had taken her sons' word for it that this was a necessity, but left that aspect of the business entirely up to them, since Facebook was a foreign concept to her and the concept of Twitter just sounded plain stupid. Stupid or not, though, it must have worked. Her first day in business had been lackluster, which would have disappointed her if she hadn't expected it to be slow, but it had been steadily picking up since the month and a half since the shop opened.

When Healy had insisted that Red should close the shop on Valentine's Day so that they could spend the entire day together, Red had simply snorted. The holiday had been one of the busiest days of the year for her and Dmitri when they owned their market, and she expected that a pastry shop would see even more business. As it turned out, she'd been right and, although Healy was still disappointed, Red was glad that she hadn't shut down and lost the day's profits. Still, she had to wonder what Healy might have planned if she had acquiesced. He was so wildly romantic that Red, with her distaste for all things sappy, could only imagine the horrors he might come up with.

Red sat down at one of the tables with a sigh. "The whole time we were getting this place ready, I missed doing real work so much, but I forgot how exhausting it is," she said, "My back is in spasms, and I'm so tired. I have to wrap up all of the stuff still left in the pastry case, then clean up, and all I want to do is put my head down here and go to sleep."

"Why aren't the boys here to help?" Healy asked, sitting down across from her.

"Yuri and Vasily are both working today, then they're going home to their wives, and Tanya's father is in the hospital, so Maxim is alone taking care of the baby. He offered to come and bring her along, but I told him to stay at home. Stupid of me."

Healy chuckled. Her life had changed in so many ways since she'd gotten out of Litchfield. Even Red herself had changed; she was happier now, less harsh and bitter, more open. One thing that would never change, though, was her stubbornness. She never expected help from anyone, and she wouldn't ask for help, either, even when she needed it. Healy stood up from the table, then reached for Red's hand and pulled her up.

"Come on, love. You take care of the kitchen; I'll wrap the food and clean the front," he said. She kissed his cheek lightly in thanks, and then went to the kitchen. Fortunately for them both, almost an entire lifetime spent in kitchens meant that Red was a pro at cleaning them, and everything was spotless in no time. As she wiped down the last of the counters, she heard music from the dining area. Healy had turned on the radio and was singing along. As she moved into the main room of the shop, picking up a rag and beginning to wipe down the counter while Healy was sweeping, the song changed, and "Learning to Fly" by Tom Petty filled the air.

Healy neared the counter with the broom and, when Red had finished wiping, he leaned the broom against a wall and came up beside her, taking her hand and bringing her into his embrace. Red let out an exaggerated groan when he put his arms around her waist and began to rock and sway her to the beat of the music.

"Really, Healy?" she said in mock annoyance, twining her arms about his neck anyway, "You feel like dancing now?"

"Mmhmm," he acknowledged, drawing her closer.

"I'm tired," she complained, "I want to finish up here and go home."

"Just humor me," said Healy. Red rolled her eyes at him, but allowed him to continue leading their awkward waltz. As he did, Red leaned into his chest, inhaling his scent through his shirt. He had changed his clothes before leaving work, so he was dressed like a normal person, and the flannel of his shirt smelled like their house mingled with laundry detergent instead of reeking of Litchfield.

"You still smell like your soap from this morning," she observed, "I probably smell like sweat and disinfectant."

Healy shook his head. "No." He bent his head and sniffed her hair, "You smell like sugar. Do you taste like it, too?"

Red giggled, and Healy's heart jumped in his chest, the way it always did on the rare occasions that he was able to make her do that.

"I don't know," she said, gazing up at him pointedly, "You have to tell me."

Their lips met, softly, gently, and Healy simply stood still and took in the feel of her before deepening the kiss. Red sighed into his mouth, clasping her hands behind his neck to hold herself upright. _Chert a ne chelovek_ , she thought with amusement. She both hated and loved the way that his touch still made her knees weak and her body tremble.

When he broke the kiss, Healy smiled at her playfully.

"Well, you definitely don't taste like sugar," he pronounced. She just tasted like…her. Deep, earthy and entrancing, like always.

Red shook her head. "Silly man," she said, attempting to wriggle out of his grasp, to which Healy responded by taking her left hand in his.

"Uh-uh," he said, "Not so fast." Red stared at Healy in confusion as he reached into his pocket to pull something out. She gasped when she saw what it was, and then he lifted her hand, isolating her ring finger and slipping the piece of jewelry onto it. Her heart skipped a beat when she inspected the ring. It was simple and delicate, a thin gold band with a single diamond, not too small but not large enough to be gaudy. It was perfect. When Dmitri had proposed to her, he'd given her the biggest, flashiest rock he could afford. That had been what twenty-two-year-old Galina wanted; she wanted to show it to all her girlfriends and all the men she hadn't chosen and make everybody jealous. That engagement ring had been proof—to herself as much as to everyone else—that she had managed to land one of the few good men who could be found in her neighborhood.

Red didn't need that proof now. She knew that Sam was a good man, that she had made him a better man, and that he made her better, too. This ring wasn't proof of anything; it was simply an emblem of something so much deeper than anything she'd ever experienced.

"Oh, Sam," she breathed.

"Do you—" he began, but was cut off when she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed.

"It's beautiful, lyubov," Red whispered, standing on the tips of her toes to kiss him. They stood like that for several minutes, all the way through another song, before the radio cut to a commercial break and Red pulled away.

"Enough of this," she said, her tone businesslike, "We have to finish here, or we'll never get to go home."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When they got home, they had a dinner of leftover pot roast. Healy stated, for the fiftieth time that day, that he wished he had been able to take her out to dinner that night. With her responsibilities at the shop and Caputo, purely out of spite, making Healy stay late at Litchfield to supervise the Valentine's Day party, there had been no way that a romantic dinner with flowers and candy would have been a possibility. Still, Healy thought, it would have been a nice way to spend their first Valentine's Day as a real, not-highly-illegal couple.

"You know I hate restaurants," Red said, "Anyway, no restaurant makes food as good as mine."

"Fair point," replied Healy, "But a restaurant would have been more romantic than our kitchen."

"I don't like romantic."

Healy chuckled. "Sure you do."

"You're mistaken, Healy. I hate romance, but I put up with it from you because I have to humor you."

"Okay," he replied, "If you say so."

In spite of her distaste for romance and love in general, Red had no qualms about joining Healy in a candlelit bath after they had eaten. When Healy pointed out how romantic it was that they were snuggled together in his oversized tub, Red simply rolled her eyes and explained that she was enjoying it so much because he was rubbing her back and the warm water soothed her aching muscles. When they lay naked together in bed, curled into each other after making love, Healy smirked and opened his mouth to speak, but Red simply narrowed her eyes and placed her finger over his lips.

"If you say anything about romance, Healy, I will sleep on the couch tonight, I swear." She wouldn't, and he knew it, but he remained silent anyway, simply stroking the sweat-dampened skin on her arm while his other played in her hair, until they both fell asleep.

Author's Note: Next chapter is the last one, kids. For this story, anyway.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:** So, I agonized over how I was going to end this thing. Like, I literally had no clue. Then I watched _Riding in Cars with Boys_ for the first time in, like, years, and the last couple of scenes made me think, "Huh. How meta would it be to have Piper write a book?" And I knew I wanted to show Red and Healy in Red's shop and include a family element and have an excuse to talk about all the other big characters from the show, too. And, thus, this chapter was born. Enjoy, and thanks for reading!

Learning to Fly

Piper pulled her car into the small gravel parking lot, looking up at the quaint little Victorian-style house with red shutters and a red-painted front door. The only thing to distinguish the place as anything other than a residential building was an "Open" sign hanging on the door, and the painted windows advertising coffee and pastries in both English and Russian. She figured, from the Cyrillic characters on a few of the windows, that she had the right place; still, she pulled the paper out of her glove compartment and took another look at it, comparing the hastily-scribbled numbers with those on the mailbox. She wanted to make extra sure that her GPS had, in fact, taken her where she needed to go.

Of all of the people she had looked for in the past few months, Red had been one of the hardest to track down. Her former prison roommate/enemy/friend/mentor seemed to have fallen off the map once she got out. Piper supposed that was natural enough; Red had been involved in mafia business, so it made sense that she would want to lay low. Anyway, Piper thought wryly, if she was still with Healy, they would, of course, want to be somewhere out of the way. A relationship between an officer and a former inmate, while technically not illegal once the inmate was released, would have been frowned upon, especially if Healy was still working at Litchfield.

Piper wouldn't have even known where to start the search for Red if she hadn't reluctantly visited Nicky at the prison. She had been hesitant to go back there, but she really did need the information that Nicholls could give her. Besides, it was nice to see Nicky again, and to learn that she had scarcely six months left on her sentence. She also, of course, knew where Red was, and had given Piper the address, after saying, "Hey, Chapman, do me a favor though. Just don't tell Ma it was me who gave it to ya." There was no way to tell how Red would react to having a reminder of her prison days showing up on her doorstep.

With that in mind, Piper hesitantly climbed the steps onto the porch of the small house. She hesitated at the front door, but then, steeling her nerves, she grabbed the doorknob and opened it. The first thing she noticed when she entered the shop was the smell. It was…divine, good coffee mingled with sugar sweetness and the scent of baking bread. So delicious and wonderful; Piper kind of wanted to live in this place so she could smell that aroma forever.

She looked around the shop at the tables, seeing a gaggle of old ladies huddled at a corner table, talking over pastries, and a college-aged kid sitting on his own with his laptop and an accumulation of coffee cups around him. When she looked at the only other occupied table in the place, Piper almost gasped at what she saw. There sat Healy, dressed casually in jeans and a plaid button-down shirt, with a little, red-haired girl in the chair next to him. The child was bent over a book, and she was reading aloud, while Healy listened. Occasionally, the little girl would trip over a big word, and Healy would either correct her or prompt her to sound it out.

"Mr. Healy?" Piper said, surprised. Healy turned around at the familiar voice, and stared at Chapman as though she had two heads.

"Chapman? What the hell are you doing here?" he asked. The little girl clapped her hand over her mouth, as was her wont when an adult used "bad" language in front of her.

"I…umm…I actually came to see Red."

"Who came to see me?" a familiar voice called out from the kitchen. Piper turned to see that Red had appeared behind the pastry case, and was looking at her in much the same way Healy had just a moment ago. This time, though, Piper was also shocked. The woman in front of her was undoubtedly Red; her hair was still vibrantly orange and she even wore the trademark lipstick, but everything else had changed. This version of Red, the real-world version, had light makeup and shoulder-length hair pulled away from her face by a black headband, and wore a simple apron over an oversized white button-down shirt and black leggings.

" _Yebat_ ," she said, looking the younger woman up and down, apparently just as surprised by real-world Chapman as Piper was by her, "How in the hell did you find me?"

"With a lot of difficulty, actually. You're a hard woman to track down, Red."

"That's by design," the Russian woman replied. Piper half expected Red to grab a broom and chase her from the shop but, instead, she gestured to the table where Healy was. "Sit down," Red invited her, "Do you want some coffee? I also have plenty of pastries. You could finally taste my _vatrushkis_ for real, _Kibun_." Piper couldn't help but smile at the subtle dig.

"Yes to both," she replied, seating herself next to Healy, who was still looking at her warily. The little girl had wandered off, seating herself at another table with the phone that she had stolen from Healy, to which her attention was riveted. Red came to the table, placing the cup and plate in front of Piper, along with creamer and sugar for the coffee.

"Six-fifty," Red said.

"What?" asked Piper, surprised. Healy snickered.

"Four for the pastry, two-fifty for the coffee."

"You can't even make an exception for an old friend?" Piper asked.

"Didn't you learn anything in Litchfield? Nothing will get you nothing in this world, Chapman," Red returned. Grumbling, Piper reached into her purse and handed the Russian woman seven dollars. Red took the money, tucked it into the pocket of her apron, then sat down next to Healy, directly across from Piper. Another stray glance at Red, and Chapman took notice of the older woman's hands folded on top of the table. Her left one was adorned with a simple but pretty gold diamond ring and a wedding band, which almost exactly matched the single band on Healy's hand. Piper smiled knowingly; at least one of her questions had been answered without her having to say a word.

"So, Chapman, what brings you out here?" Healy asked. Piper was about to give him an answer, but was cut off by Red suddenly calling out to the little girl, who had begun to skip and weave around the tables, to the amusement of the old ladies and the annoyance of the college student.

"Yekaterina Maximova!" Red said severely, stopping the child in her tracks.

Despite the girl's obvious fear of punishment, she put her hands on her hips, stood her ground, and replied, "It's Katie, _Babulya_! Everyone calls me Katie!"

"When you run around my shop like a little hurricane, I call you 'accident waiting to happen.' Now come sit down here and finish your book."

Healy had to smile at that. Galina's favorite grandchild (and the one who was most like her, God help them all) was, undoubtedly, the only person in the universe who could speak to her like that without having all hell rained down upon them. The girl did as she was told and, when she was comfortably sat at her grandmother's side, Red turned back to Piper.

"So, anyway, why did you come looking for me?" she asked, turning her attention to the young woman in front of her, "I'll be honest, Chapman, I never thought I'd see you again after Litchfield."

"Yeah, it took a while before I was…I don't know… _ready_ to see or speak to anyone from there. Except Alex, of course. But she's different. She's always been…different." Piper turned to Healy, wondering if he would blanch at the mere insinuation of "lesbian activity," as he always had in the past. Surprisingly, the look on his face was impassive as he nodded and then took a sip of his coffee. _Well, I'll be damned; Red's done the impossible and turned him into a decent human being_ , Piper thought.

"Anyway, I've actually been tracking down a lot of the people who were in with us. I found Soso. She and Poussey are still together, and Taystee's living with them, so I got three for the price of one," Piper said. Red scoffed.

"And what are you doing looking for everyone?" she asked, "Are you planning some kind of fu—" Red caught herself just in time, glancing down at her oblivious granddaughter, " _Messed_ up little reunion?"

"No, I'm actually…I'm trying to write a book," Piper replied.

"A book? About Litchfield? Why would you want to do that?" Red asked. Piper shrugged.

"I can't even explain it myself. Alex thinks I'm crazy, too. But it's just…I don't know…I feel like it's something I _have_ to do. Like, the idea came to me about six months ago, and I can't get it out of my head. Coping mechanism, I guess. I've been running around trying to find people who were there while I was there, getting perspectives other than mine on some of the things that happened, trying to job my memory."

Red sat back in her chair. "And you want to talk to me?" she asked. Piper nodded.

"You and Mr. Healy," she replied. She hadn't originally cared to talk to Healy, but he was here, he would feel left out if she asked Red and not him and, besides, maybe her book could benefit from an officer's perspective as well.

The couple exchanged a glance, and Piper almost found it heartwarming, the way that they seemed to communicate wordlessly. Almost, because she still couldn't get over the oddness of the pairing.

"What would you be talking to us about?" Healy asked.

"Just various things," Piper replied, "I'm not going to lie, some of them may not be pleasant things. But I obviously can't force you to tell me anything you wouldn't be comfortable with me writing about. I can even leave out your real names and just use nicknames when I talk about either or both of you. And of course I would credit you both in the acknowledgments. I don't want to expose anyone or make anyone uncomfortable, and I don't want to take advantage of anyone. I just want to tell my story, and the story of Litchfield."

Healy seemed skeptical, unsure, but Red simply nodded. She better understood Piper's motivations. She never would have written a book about her prison experiences, but she could understand the need to do something to deal with the memories. For her, it was keeping herself busy, with the shop, with her sons and grandchildren, with Healy—anything so that she was never alone or unoccupied for long enough to start dwelling.

"We'll think about it," Red promised. Healy looked at her, a bit surprised that she hadn't simply stood up and yelled at Piper to get out of her shop—he couldn't understand why she seemed so comfortable with the younger woman's crazy proposition. Red turned to him, saw the disapproval in his eyes and the protest rising on his lips, and shut it down with a severe look.

"We'll talk," he echoed Red grudgingly, "And we'll get back to you when we've made a decision."

"Great!" Piper exclaimed.

"Don't get too excited," Red warned, "That's far from a 'yes.'"

"Of course," the younger woman said. Still, she felt…relieved. A "maybe" was a lot farther than she had expected to get with Red.

"I did have one other thing I wanted to ask. This is a question for Mr. Healy, really," Piper said, after a long pause during which the old ladies' chatter and the clicking of the college student's fingers on his keyboard were the only noises in the shop.

Healy's coffee cup froze midway to his mouth, but he put it down and asked, "And what's that?"

"I wanted to know if you still kept tabs on Pennsatucky. I spoke with Nicky the last time I visited Litchfield, and she said Penn got out a few months ago. I want to talk to her, too, but I don't have the first clue how to find her."

"Oh," Healy said, "Doggett's shift starts in about half an hour."

"What?!" Piper exclaimed, looking to Red, who rolled her eyes.

"He talked me into hiring her," said the Russian woman, pointing accusingly at Healy, "She had this sob story about not being able to find a job, and for some reason Healy still has a soft spot for her, so I caved. At least I'm building up my good karma. In case there really is a God, I mean."

Red would never admit it, but she had needed very little convincing from Healy to hire Pennsatucky. The girl had never been Red's favorite person, but her troubles with finding work after getting out were real enough, and she came to Red and Healy genuinely needing some kind of support. Red could relate; if she hadn't had her sons' generosity and Sam to take care of her when she was released, she couldn't guarantee that she would have been all right. Anyway, Doggett turned out to be a good investment; she worked hard, didn't piss off the customers too much, and had generally just chilled out more since she had first arrived in prison.

"Jeez, Red; do you give everyone a job after they get released?" Piper asked, "If I went in the kitchen, would Morello and Norma be back there baking cookies?"

Red had to chuckle at that. "Lorna lives in Jersey with her husband now, and Norma's still locked up. She probably won't be getting out any time soon, if ever." _But if she does_ , Red thought, _she'll always have a place in my kitchen with me_. But that was where Red drew the line. Well, Nicky, too, but Nicky was her daughter.

After a few more minutes of light conversation, Piper finished her pastry and made an excuse to leave. Red had customers walking through the door, Katie could no longer sit still in her chair, and Piper could tell that Healy was uncomfortable in her presence. Her welcome was well and truly worn out, and it was time for her to get back on the road and go home to Alex.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Healy stepped onto the patio, two steaming mugs of tea in his hand. He had fallen asleep on the couch after dinner, exhausted from taking care of Katie all day. He loved Red's granddaughter. She had been a fixture at their house or the pastry shop since she was a baby, because Red and Healy watched her while her parents were working. The role of grandfather was one that Healy had never thought he'd ever have a chance to play, and he enjoyed it immensely, but keeping up with an energetic four-year-old was hard work. That day, in particular, Red's business had been booming, so Katie had mostly been his responsibility, and he was wiped out. The visit from Chapman, of course, had done nothing to uplift him.

Red was sitting outside, on the porch swing that she'd insisted on having installed in their yard shortly after she had officially moved in. With one foot on the ground, she swung herself lazily back and forth, clutching a blanket around her for protection from the autumn chill and occasionally glancing down at the book in her hand, although it was obvious to Healy that she was miles away.

"What are you thinking about?" Healy asked, sitting next to his wife and handing her one of the mugs.

"The same thing you are, I imagine," Red replied. She took her mug and then moved closer to him, lifting the blanket and throwing part of it over him. He took her into his arms easily, with all the familiarity that five years together brought, and her head naturally came to rest on his shoulder.

"Are you seriously considering Chapman's proposal?" he asked.

"Of course I am," she replied, looking up at him and silencing the anticipated protest with a sharp look, "I don't know how I feel about it, much less if I'm going to say yes, but I'd be doing her a disservice if I didn't at least consider it."

Healy snorted. "Why does that matter? We don't owe Chapman anything."

"Don't we?" Red asked, "Have you forgotten that she knew about us? She could have turned us in, ruined us both, but she sat on our secret for two years until she got out. We owe her our happiness."

Healy considered this. Red was right. He knew it and he hated it.

"Anyway, we both did some pretty horrible shit to her in Litchfield. You put her in solitary for no good reason and I tried to feed her my menstrual blood, for fuck's sake." Red shook her head. Now, years later, away from the toxic environment of the prison and having finally adjusted to being a human being again, she felt nothing but disgust for what she had done to Chapman so long ago, for who she had been at that point in her life.

"That place…it drives you crazy. No matter who you are, it strips away all the good in you and makes you the monster that society thinks you are. You know that, Sam; that's why you took early retirement," Red continued.

Healy considered this. It was true. He had tried to justify it by saying that he couldn't be married to Red and work at the place where she had been incarcerated. He had chosen her over his career, as it were, and he still maintained that this was mostly the reason for his leaving. But he also knew that it hadn't just been her, or their relationship. The simple fact of the matter was that he was tired of it. He got into prison counseling because he thought he could help people. He had helped a few of the inmates in his charge, but not nearly as much as he wanted to. And now, looking back at the way that Litchfield had twisted and disillusioned him, he wasn't convinced that he hadn't done more harm than good as a counselor. This was part of the reason that the thought of talking to Chapman about Litchfield, being featured in a book about the place, even if only under a code name, made him so uneasy.

He nodded, kissing the top of Red's head and then running his fingers through her hair, reflecting on how pretty she looked with it longer, how much he loved it.

"You're right," he said, "We were both fucked up. And we do kind of owe Chapman. I guess it wouldn't kill me to at least think about it."

Red nodded. "Just think about it. And we can talk about it more. But now," she said, tossing the blanket away and rising, "I'm ready to go to bed. Come with me?"

Healy stood as well, grabbing the blanket and her book. Before she reached the patio door, he stopped her, pulling her into his embrace and leaning down to kiss her. She let out a mock groan, just as she always did when he kissed her at odd moments and she felt like being playful. Red made a show of trying to escape from him, prompting Healy to bring her closer and kiss her more forcefully.

As he followed her inside, past the living room and towards their bedroom, Healy reflected on how lucky he had gotten. Six years ago, he hadn't even remotely deserved Red's love, but she gave it to him anyway. In many ways, she had allowed him to fulfill his dream of actually making a difference in someone's life, while also being helped—and even saved—himself. She was right; there were so many reasons to hate Litchfield, and he did, with a passion, but he also had to be grateful for the prison as well. As bittersweet as it was, Litchfield had brought them to each other.


End file.
